


The Shivering

by Jaili



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-08 09:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 55,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaili/pseuds/Jaili
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hound is back for revenge, the Golden Company will take him to Gregor. To hells with the iron throne and bugger the dragon queen too. It was as good a plan as any, but he did not anticipate unwanted help either. Set in Westeros and using familiar characters with a crop of originals too. Sandor/OC, some book spoilers. Dark and gritty adventure awaits!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The air was heavy with the mist of morning and the smoke of dying night fires and torches, a curious mix of refreshing and eye stinging. Sandor's anger roiled around him as palpably as the mist itself while he stomped through the massive war host spread through the thick woods of the Rainwood. The commanders of the Golden Company had rejected him, even knowing his true identity! "The Golden Company does not take lame, dishonored turncoats into its ranks." They had said, it took all of the patience he had gathered from his time on the Quiet Isle not to prove how wrong he thought they were within that moment. So here he was, confined to their war camp until they could decide what to do with him, they couldn't let someone with information on their numbers and position just walk away freely after all. He felt like a beaten dog, cut down before his revenge could even be realized.

His thoughts traveled to that night when a rough voice called to him as he made camp, drawing his attention to the hooded form leaning against a large tree not too far away. A female, he snorted at the hilarity of it, The Golden Company taking a female as a warrior over him! But she had probed him curiously and he answered like the wounded dog he was- angrily and utterly without care at that point. How he had been denied joining the company and his current predicament, she seemed amused by it all, but as she leaned there against the tree he could feel her gaze heavy on his burns, it irked him like it always had. To her credit she did not try to slip away, or even respond at all, when he leaped up and stormed over to her, grabbing a shoulder with a large gloved fist while snarling out "Like what you see?! Take a better loo-" furiously he flipped back her hood and the snarl died in his throat, possibly the first time The Hound himself had ever been startled into silent staring at the ugliness before him.

She was grinning up at him broadly with eyes that looked as black as pitch, a grin made impossibly wide and grim by the huge chunk of missing cheek on the left side of her face; muscle, teeth and gums glittering wetly with uncontrolled saliva in the flickering light of the fire. He wasn't sure how long he stared in confusion at what could possibly be the female twin of him- ugliest man in Westeros that he was, she had to be the ugliest woman by the same coin. Her shoulder started to tremble under his hand as she began to chuckle heartily at his response, to which he finally let his hand slide off and step back. He wasn't given a chance to formulate a rude follow-up to his staring in order to preserve his rough exterior, she was on the offensive as soon as his hand slipped off her dark, leather clad, shoulder. "There are more convincing ways to joining The Golden Company than simply demanding it and flexing your muscles while looking intimidating, which I'm sure you did well enough. I don't know your motivation, nor do I care, but I will help you stranger. See you tomorrow." And like that, she had stepped away from him and into the dark underbrush that separated the camps from one another, and he let her be, still too angry to process what had been said.

Now his wanderings through the camps in the rising light of dawn unconsciously drew him towards the familiar sound of sword play. There was no guard following him, it would be a fools gambit to try to escape from the very middle of a disciplined army such at this, his thoughts clearing away as he came to realize he was standing witness to some war games that had gathered a crowd. In the clearing he saw a small group in close quarters fighting with blunted tourney weapons. The woman was there too, in her dark leathers and without the hooded cloak she had worn that night, utterly unafraid of showing off her maimed face. She was wielding a two-handed sword and, much to the crowds amusement, overpowering a wiry lad wearing heavy plate and using a sword and shield. There was another pair locked in combat too, but the woman's battle was clearly the epicenter of the conflict.

Her dark brown hair was bound in a long braid that went down to her lower back, and stray strands were sweat slicked to her head and neck as she pounded on the shield of her adversary in a fury. Her opponent's eyes were wide with a kind of fright any killer could recognize- the look of the defeated. She saw it too, and with a husky cry she flicked aside his feeble attempt at a slash with his long sword, dislodging it from his hand and ramming bodily into his shield to knock him off-balance, fiercely planting a foot onto his chest and pointing the blunt sword against his chest until he shouted "I yield!" tremulously.

Standing there, not really knowing why he was there in the first place, her eyes locked on his when she straightened and rested the great sword over her shoulder and gave the crowd a sweeping look. It was only for a moment, but it was enough. Turning from him she observed a large man with a two hander disarming and forcing the yield of his own smaller opponent before turning to face her with a grin, as though he was already victorious over her. Raising a leather clad hand to him and grinning, she called out "Midas, well fought. You and I have tangled most mornings however, as enjoyable as it is, I suggest a change of the game, if you will." The big man, Midas apparently, nodded to her. He was as curious as everyone else to see where she was taking this, and there was some dull muttering of the gathered crowd as she slowly turned around, on what he now saw was bare feet, to point directly at him.

"This big lump of fodder was rejected by the high command last night, you all know that. If they think he isn't worth anything then I am sure he isn't, but who are we to judge until we see him in action, yes? Much the same was thought about me when I first came to join this fine company." Her grin was unsettling as her hand curled and beckoned him forwards, her eyes were a bright gray, he noted dully. "Elyse, he's lame. He's worthless. Why would you pit me against him?" Midas called cockily as Sandor slowly walked towards them, eating up the space with his long silent strides. "Because, Midas, I caught the deer that you bloody well ate half of. This is my will and surely there is no harm in it. If he's such a damn cripple but still wanted to join us, clearly he has no problems with getting a fucking beating now does he?" she called back fiercely, some of the crowd grudgingly assenting to her words.

Apparently she wasn't giving him any choice, grinning broadly he silently nodded his assent. There was a brief bustle of activity as she called for a squire to get him a tourney sword, his voice low and simmering with his anger as he muttered "Greatsword." He kept his cloak on and hood up, conscious of how he was putting his anonymity at risk, and observed the fool he was about to unleash all his anger on. Midas already had a sheen of sweat on his brow from his earlier fight, so he wasn't fresh, that much was clear. But he had not seen him fight, only known that it took him longer to defeat the other whelp than it took the woman to defeat her own opponent. He was large, not as large as Sandor though, and his muscles pushed at the chain that covered his chest and arms threateningly. A grin slowly spread across Sandor's face as his hands curled around the familiar weight of the greatsword a skittish squire handed to him, entering his familiar fighting stance as a calm confidence washed over him, tempering his seething rage into a weapon of its own.

Sword still balanced over her own shoulder, Elyse stepped between them briefly and flashed her hand down for them to begin, grinning broadly and eyes glittering as though she actually knew what was about to happen to this great fool across from him. As she darted aside both men rushed forwards, Sandor lamenting the small disadvantage his leg gave him in that moment of distance closing, their swords clashing together hard enough to jar his arms. Thoughts fled as adrenaline flooded through him, battle lust already high and raging, and the slight flicker of fear in his opponent's eyes revealed he also recognized a seasoned warrior- too late for you though, Sandor thought.

Laughter echoed around them as their swords met ferociously several more times, Midas pushing aggressively to end the fight before he could truly tire- and he would well before Sandor, since he had already been fighting. Throwing his weight into one particularly violent clash, Sandor threw Midas back a foot and grinned broadly, taking up the greatsword in one hand mockingly. Laughter and mocking calls towards Midas enraged him and he launched forwards once again with all the fury and speed he could muster, leaving Sandor blocking and deflecting his attacks one-handed while letting out a harsh, gritty laugh of his own. Midas, overwhelmed by anger at the thought of being defeated so easily, became reckless as his fury battled with the exhaustion beginning to claim his limbs.

It all ended too fast, in Sandor's opinion, Midas went for a fierce overhead smash with his sword but was slowed by his straining muscles. Sandor slipped around the sword deftly and brought his gloved fist into Midas' face, hard enough to send the big man down on to his back and dropping his sword, the battle clearly over. A silence claimed the area in the moment of Midas' defeat before roaring up to an exultant cheer as Sandor rested the point of the dull blade to the ground and leaned on it casually, frowning as his eyes landed on Elyse, who was clapping and grinning with a particular gleam in her eyes.

"As I thought." she called out with her low-toned voice, stepping forwards to give Midas a brief hand in standing up and sending him off to the healers tents with a squire and his wounded pride, spinning around to pin Sandor with her gaze. "You don't seem tired, perhaps a more even match will set your blood to pumping. What say you?" she declared boldly while the cheers of men nearby encouraged her. "And what fool would you have me face now? I'm made for killing, not fighting in bloody tourneys, wench." he snarled at her, glaring fiercely as she casually flicked her great sword into her hands and patted the blade against one. "Why, me of course, and that makes two of us. What name do you go by, would-be champion?"

He snorted in disdain, a woman challenging him? "I'm the gravedigger, wench. And you should be servicing men, not fighting them." A roar surged around them, the crowd echoing his sentiment and laughing at her audacity as her eyes narrowed into a glare. He almost didn't react in time to the sword launching at him with a speed to be reckoned with. With barely a moment left he did manage to throw his sword up and deflect her first attack, which she followed up with a ferocious set of thrusts and swings as the crowd crowed at her in dismay for trying to catch him off guard, when he was about to decline her challenge. Soon they had entered a familiar dance, two veterans pressing the attack and going on the defensive between each deadly surge.

He had lost his patience with defending and yelling at the wench to stand down, he wasn't afraid of cutting a woman down and he wasn't going to let himself be bested by one, either. When he pressed his own attack, both hands on his sword to bring all his power to the forefront, he was surprised when she could still block each bone shattering attack without pause, even when the strikes forced her bodily backwards and dragged her feet through the mud. She used her smaller size to her advantage and pressed herself into the space between them as tightly as she could, knowing her smaller swings held more power than his in those quarters, he found himself using his legs to deflect her and his bulk to force her physically backwards when she grew too close to landing hits, which he knew from deflecting her own would hurt something fierce even with a blunted sword, much like his own.

Chants rose around them as their dance wore on, the fog of morning all but burned away, he could vaguely hear "Grave-digger!" and "E-lyse!" Sandor drew her into a dangerous locked position, bodies mashing their swords together as they both heaved for breath, she knew he had a lot of power in the position. They glared at each other, him down at her and her up at him as sweat flew freely off of their hair and dripped from their faces. She looked exultant even with spittle dripping out of the gash in her face, eyes glittering sharply and mouth set in a broad grin. He knew the rush of meeting an equal in battle, but didn't have it in him to feel insulted by her brazen feelings, she was giving what she was getting and no man could deny that.

Their exchange lasted only a moment despite feeling like minutes, it ended as she realized her positional mistake and attempted to launch her body away from his. It was too late though, he had thought that crucial one step ahead of her and hooked his thick leg behind both of hers, leaning forwards with a jerk and using her own backwards momentum against her to send her falling to the ground while he jarred the sword from her hands with a brutal twist and shove.

Her landing in the mud caused an uproar, but it was all dulled by the thundering of blood through his veins, he had lowered his sword expecting her to yield in that moment, but jerked in shock as she leaped up not a moment later and struck him in the face with an unyielding fist while letting out an exultant cry.

Responding automatically, his own heavy fist caught her in the chest with a dull thud as his sword dropped to the ground and they clashed unmercifully, his bulk an advantage that they both understood but stopped caring about as blood lust overrode the original intent of the duel. Mud and blood started flying between them as both stood their ground and traded blows, barely bothering to avoid each others strikes. There was multiple cuts on his face, which she favored striking since he was wearing mail, and the unmistakable crunch of a rib breaking rung through the area from one of his more well placed blows to her side.

The sharp sound of a horn blowing mere feet away jerked the two out of their furious brawl long enough for voices to come back into focus. Elyse apparently recognized the voices yelling and drew away from his reach with a quick jerk and spun to face her superiors. Sandor followed suit slower, fists lowering to his sides as he panted and glared at several of the commanders who had stood against him when he tried to join the Golden Company last night, faces coming into focus as his senses came flooding back to him.

Mud was slowly dripping down her back and from her long braid, sweat and blood mixing and dripping freely from the two of them. Harry Strickland himself had waddled out to witness their brawling and was standing before them like the pathetic whale he was, face red as a beet as he roared "Disgraceful! How did you ever come to be in our illustrious company, Elyse? You're a stain! Punishment is due for attacking a ward of the Golden Company and further ignoring orders from your superiors to avoid confrontations!" Sandor had to admit she handled the tongue lashing stoically, and decided that situations like this must not be an uncommon occurrence with her. He didn't miss the subtle wink she gave him with her swollen eye as she was hauled off to be punished though, was this really her intention?

He was forced to put those thoughts aside as Harry Strickland turned to face him, visibly calmer now that Elyse was out of his hair. "Elyse has dishonored our company, you were under our protection until we decided what to do with you. However, in light of seeing you actually battle, I believe we owe you an apology and I'd like to formally offer you a position in our company as a result of this. Will you accept this and my humble apologies for Elyse' behavior?" Some of the serjeants with him balked visibly at what Harry had said, and Sandor couldn't help but grin. Bugger them. "Aye, I'll join your damn company. Didn't travel half of Westeros to be told no, anyway." Over the sound of his victory, he heard the sound of a whip lashing bared flesh, and he didn't mind one bit.

It was only a matter of time before the opportunity arose to meet the monster his brother had become, and he'd kill him while well armed and well fed; maybe even at the order of his so-called superiors. He could think of worse ways to spend a few years than as a hired sell sword that no one knew, despite his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor follows his first set of orders and then capitalizes on an advantage.

Blood dripped in thick rivulets down her bared back and welled up against her leggings, soaking them slowly but surely. "Make it count boys, you know you wouldn't stand a chance otherwise." She almost regretted having said that. Meric and Moat, a vile pair of dothraki twins, wielded their whips as surely as she wielded any sword, and had taken gleeful turns meting out the punishment assigned to her. There was no love lost between herself and those two cruel beasts, it was no surprise that they were Edgurs favorites.

A healer had already come by while she was unconscious, the burning wine he poured over the gouges in her back had stirred her awake again, much to her dismay. A few of the whip strikes had apparently cleaved to the rib, those received stitches. Now, in the evening, she rested her body against the pole she was tied to as best she could. Her hands were bound to a ring at the top and her toes barely touched the ground, meant for taller men than her, while her feet were roped together at the ankles. Her armor had been removed and taken back to her tent, it was a mercy that they left my leggings on, she thought. There wouldn't be any fighting back if someone decided to take advantage of her then.

Drool oozed down her chin and dripped to the ground in a steady rhythm, only broken by the occasional slurp sound as she tried to control the hole in her cheek. There would be no food today, and if she was lucky they would take her down tomorrow, punishment over. It was evening when she was uncomfortably attempting to adjust her mud crusted braid that was over her shoulder when a shadow fell over her, robbing her throbbing back of the last warm rays of sunset. "I must be in more pain than I thought, to not hear an aurochs like you stomping over here." She couldn't keep an accusatory tone from her voice. A raspy grunt answered her revealing it was indeed the gravedigger, what a name that was, not that she could say her alias was any better.

There was a pregnant silence between them as she felt him move closer. His presence was strangely physical, like a weight pressing on her back, or maybe that was his glare. There was no more time left to ruminate on it as she felt both his hands resting on her mud and blood crusted shoulders, squeezing just enough to force a pained hiss of breath to escape her. He leaned down beside her ear as she held still, listening with a frown. "Why? What do you get out of getting me in to the Golden Company? You wenches always want something." his voice rasped angrily while his hot breath brushed some of her free hair into her face. Incredulous, she couldn't hold back a snort of contempt at him, receiving another painful squeeze in response. "I was rejected for trying to join too, you know. You struck me as someone who wasn't quite as daft as he was large, I assume you're smart enough to listen to the men as they talk about me, how much do you know I wonder? I assure you, most of it is probably true." she smirked broadly, the cut on her dry lip breaking open from the stretch and bleeding anew.

Sandor had of course, she was a hot topic after what happened that morning, but he wasn't going to believe even half of what they muttered between each other. Another firm squeeze and a hiss in response, his anger roiling at the thought of her pity. "So you like to pity broken things, then. What a fool. Was it worth it, girl?" His hands lifted from her shoulders and planted on her hips, squeezing them mercilessly as she gave off a choked chuckle. It must have hurt, he knew he broke at least one of her ribs. The tone of her voice remained accusatory while lowering into a venomous hiss "I admit, I thought you might be smart enough to request I not be beaten, knowing that I had actually helped you, but I'm no mind reader. As to whether it is worth it in the long run or not, that remains to be seen." letting her slim hips go, he straightened up and looked down at her, appraising.

"Ugly as your face is, you're as pretty as any other wench from behind, how come no one has taken you yet?" She was a weak maid, even if he could clearly see every muscle of her top half on proud display, something did not add up about how people were adverse to being around her and talked in hushed tones when they spoke of her. A disdainful snort brought him out of his thoughts "A green squire could enjoy himself right now, for true. But you're smarter than that, have you not been listening to the whispers? A romp with me while I'm unwilling is not worth your life, and that is sound logic." Sandor chuckled, maybe they really were all cowards, to fear her retribution. He shrugged despite knowing she couldn't see it. "'tween you and I, we both know who is superior." He put emphasis on superior, making sure she knew which of them he had his bet set on. "'tween you and I, I let your leg be, you best remember that." she emphasized 'tween rudely, clearly losing patience at a rapid pace.

Rolling his eyes, Sandor pressed against her back briefly as he reached up and unhooked her bound hands from the ring at the top of the post, taking up her weight and slowly lowering her to her feet. "Don't take me down unless they told you to, boy. Else you'll be up against a post beside me." her voice was strained, the briefest touches of her back against him was like being lashed all over again, and once he let go of her hands she grabbed at the post desperately and tried to regain feeling in her weakened legs. "Orders from Edgur." he sneered. Showing just how much he liked his new unit leader. She seemed surprised though. "Edgur? You're in the Bloody Ravens then?" roughly untying the knot around her wrists he nodded "Aye wench." she barked a short, pained laugh. "Welcome to my family then, you bloody aurochs." Great, stuck with her until she gets herself killed, with any luck that will be sooner than later.

She sat down to take care of the knot around her ankles, hissing angry breaths at having to be bent over. When finished, she roughly shoved the ropes and hook at him, which he took with a quick snatch and stomped away, leaving her to walk or crawl back to her own tent, he didn't rightly care which. Someone had piled her armor up beside a tree and tossed her bedroll out haphazardly, she was never given a tent. Grunting, she dug through the leathers and extracted her thick shirt, not bothering to put it on yet. Walking around bare-chested was the least of her worries right now. Leaning against the large soft barked tree her armor was piled against, she caught her breath and closed her eyes briefly to regain focus. A bath was much-needed, and she had scouted out an excellent deep pond near a small, lazy river just yesterday.

By the time she had finally shuffled to the actual pond, mindful of slippery rocks and caltrops, it was full dark and she was exhausted. Upon sitting on a grassy ledge above the pool however, all thoughts melted away in the calm of the moment. Hissing at the tug of the stitches in her back as she removed her blood stained leathers, she piled them beside her with her shirt and sat there looking up through the trees at the swollen moon that had risen, entranced. Eventually her eyes drifted down to the dark, calm waters that her feet were touching, forcing herself to slide down into the icy cold water as slowly as her sore arms could manage. Shortly after lowering into the water and prying the braid out of her hair roughly, she heard someone approaching quietly. Frowning and lowering down into the water, she hid just under the lip of the small arch that she had lowered down from. She kept her head above the water just enough to breathe as she glared out into the darkness, trying to spot the intruder, but whoever it could be was arriving the same way she did, behind her.

It was probably one of the many scouts of the army coming to bathe, surely one or two had found this spot easily enough in their sweep of the local forest. But, the thought tugged at her, none of those men from across the sea would dare enter the waters in Westeros like this, they would rather be filthy than freeze. There was no more time left to deliberate over it, whoever it was had arrived and was standing near her discarded clothing. The sound of other clothing hitting the soft grassy floor of the forest left her quirking a brow, curiosity peaked, but she'd remain silent until she knew for sure who it was; there was any number of soldiers in that camp who did not wish her well, after all.

When her silent visitor had divested himself of all his clothing, there was a brief pause before she felt the ground giving way to his bare feet. Finally, some mere feet away, he sat down and threw his legs over the side to slide into the water quickly, giving a grunt at the shock of cold. It was not a surprise then when the so-called gravedigger dipped into the water completely before standing up and brushing the dark hair from his face. Cautiously, her feet barely touched the soft soil of the pond beneath her, she prepared to thrust away by gripping the mucky wall at her back with one hand and braced a foot against it. Once ready, the gravedigger was busying himself by scrubbing away at his decidedly thickly muscled arms, she called out softly "You're either blind or daft, maybe both. As if you didn't see my clothing up there, what do you want?" Her fingers clenched at the soil she was gripping, he didn't even jerk slightly as she spoke, he knew what he was doing.

She acutely felt every burn of opened and bruised flesh, and the broken rib throbbing painfully, as she watched him slowly lower his arms into the water. He was standing up with head, shoulders and some chest to spare above the water, highlighting the difference in height between the two, and in this case his advantage, once again. "I ought to just drown you, nobody would question it, fool girl who can barely stand trying to swim with no place to get out and too damn short to stand up." Every word of it was true, and she had to chuckle at the thought, no matter how painful the action. "Aye you could, but why bother? Could very well drown myself with my stupidity without your help." Her arms were already tired of holding her above water as it was, it wasn't entirely a lie.

He had turned to face her, his hair was shrouding his face and gave him a decidedly more threatening look than he seemed to usually have, especially with the moon light touching his wet shoulders and giving him a gleam like a knife. "You're not from the free cities, you're from Westeros." he said pointedly, taking a slow step towards her and eating up a lot of the safe space between the two faster than she had anticipated. Determined to keep the space and to not escalate the situation into a more dangerous one, she gently kicked off from the wall of soil and floated back away from him. "Aye, this was my second time crossing the narrow seas. Not a child this time 'round, though." she remarked thoughtfully as he trailed after her, the night disguising his amused expression.

She was swimming now, crossing out into the center of the pond as he followed along, her muscles straining as she tried to find purchase with her feet. He continued on nonchalantly, dark eyes glittering, he knew what was happening. "And your face, did it get that ugly across the narrow sea, or back here in Westeros?" Panting angrily, she kicked slowly with her legs and floated tremulously backwards, he had sunk down some, just his head above the water now but walking steady all the same. There was a pause between the two as she struggled to keep upright and moving, to which he finally lost his patience and took a quick step towards her into arms reach and grabbed her thigh tightly in a hand. "Answer." he growled, holding her in place as she stilled, anchored in place but also held up.

Huffing, clearly nonplussed, her voice lowered as she glared at him "I was two and ten, a mace strike to the face that, I suppose, could be considered very lucky. This was during Roberts Rebellion, my little village home was wiped off the map. Nothing new in war, happens all the time." He nodded slightly for her to continue, both of them acutely aware of each others presence. "Couldn't tell you who did it, they all just looked like demons to a child in the light of the fires." she chuckled softly "They thought I was dead, and I woke up inside a pile of corpses while the women who had hid or run during the attack were being enjoyed, I managed to escape then. My cheek was actually still there, just a big flap. It became infected in the days I ran to the coast though, and I had to cut it off completely... Ended up eating the damn thing too, starving as I was." her lips curled into a smirk. With the moon above them she looked no less grim than him, perhaps more so.

He had stilled and gone silent, and she could feel his hand clenching her thigh tightly for a moment when she mentioned Robert's Rebellion, it was very curious. "Go on" he finally muttered, collecting himself. Sighing, but determined he wasn't going to do anything foul for the moment, she started to slowly scrub at her hair, cleaning muck and grime from it as she continued. "I ended up in a port town, Saltpans, I believe. From there I pretended to be a boy and became an oarsman, mostly for food and water, but crossing the sea and leaving Westeros behind was a perk. Nobody looks at you too closely when you're maimed, and my face looked mighty ugly at the time, unhealed as it was. I actually managed to pull off being a boy until we were almost at our destination, at which point all the captain could do was yell at me and send me back to an oar; unless the fat oaf wanted started rowing himself, he had no choice, ha!" she recalled fondly, scraping her fingertips through a length of hair. "Once I reached the free cities, it was chaos. I became a thief just to survive, until I was fully grown even, learned how to kill in the dark of night and in defense. When I saw Golden Company recruiters, it was only natural to follow, I had known only violence after all." He was stone still and silent, which she could only assume was encouragement to continue until he said otherwise.

"I asked to join them, but they knew I was a woman at just a glance and sent me off. I asked every day until they left the city with their new recruits to join the main host. I followed them of course, determination was key. In the end I actually ended up harassing the leader of the Bloody Ravens, and he decided to kill me himself in a duel to end my insolence once and for all. You probably heard that story, they are fond of telling that one at camp." He nodded briefly in confirmation; that commander had died spectacularly, if what they said was true. "That is how I ended up joining, had to get bloody to show them what I was made of. Been with them ever since, and I'm twenty and seven now, or near enough it makes no matter. Coming back to Westeros wasn't my choice, but I don't mind it either, would be some farmers wife by now if things didn't go as they did back then." she trailed off wistfully, tilting her head back to look up at the dark canopy above them, giving her arms a half-hearted scrub as she waited for him to respond.

Keeping silent he grabbed her free thigh with his other hand and steered her across the pond, feeling her muscles tense as she anticipated an aggressive action, not that she could do a damn thing about it, he thought smugly. Roughly he slipped his hands under her thighs and lifted her up onto the grassy edge, opposite of their clothing, and chuckled as she was fully bared for him to look at. Her body was riddled with scars of all sorts, much like his own, and her muscles were taut from her being ready to fight. His admiration was cut short as she pulled herself backwards and staggered into a standing position, looking down at him with her expression shrouded by her free hair which clung to her chest, shoulders and back like wet fingers. Gruffly, he snapped with his rasping voice "You're clean wench, bugger off."

He didn't bother looking back at her as she stumbled around the pond and clothed herself while still wet, silent minus the hissing breaths she took when a piece of clothing snagged on her cuts or she had to bend in a disagreeable direction. She maintained this silence until she leaned against a tree and peered back at him "I expect you'll tell me about your own ugly face eventually." he grunted, already back to the middle of the pool and scrubbing away the collective filth of his travels "To hells with you. I'm not here to swap tales, wench." Her lips curled into a tight grin, walking away as she called back "I never said you'll do it willingly." his glare was heavy in her direction as she shuffled back to camp, out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning saw her laying on top of her bedroll, back braced against the trunk of the thick tree her armor was piled beside the previous day, a dagger clenched firmly in her hand. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of approaching feet, the feel of the morning sun like daggers through her skull. Forcing them closed for a moment before she forced them open again, it was one of the camp squires with a small platter of food, which he placed on the ground beside her and quickly left without a word at her familiar glare. Letting out a slow breath she leaned her head back against the tree and grabbed the small pitcher of water, lifting it up tremulously and letting it run freely into her mouth.

Despite all her years of practice with having an extra hole in her mouth, some water leaked out of it all the same, even with her head tilted to the side as it was. Letting out a frustrated and pained growl, she placed the pitcher down and started to tear into the bread and slop provided. She jerked angrily when the back of her soft shirt clung to the tree, glued there by blood and discharge from her weeping wounds. Huffing, she leaned forwards against her knees gingerly and ate while glaring down at the ground, it was going to be an unpleasant week.

Sandor had already brushed down Stranger and familiarized himself with his surroundings, getting to know where the important parts of the camp were. The Golden Company had supplied him with a two-handed sword, bedroll and a tent to get him started. The sword was shoddy work, but any sword can kill, especially when I'm holding it, he thought. He was sitting on a log outside of his tent, staring into the dead coals of his camp fire as he sharpened the sword with a continual scraping rhythm, when a familiar voice called to him "Gravedigger, the host is at rest now, but the Bloody Ravens gather a ways north of the camp, if you plan on getting to know your new brothers any." Sandor only gave Midas a grunt in response, he wasn't interested, especially not in making friends. With a shrug Midas walked off, unconcerned with the disposition of their latest recruit, or at the very least not willing to suffer another black eye from him.

He caught sight of Elyse walking towards the healers tents some time later, when the mist of morning had burned away, noting that her light brown undershirt had been soaked through completely with blood on the back. He was not going to feel bad about it, not now and not ever, he scowled to himself and drew his hood down a little lower. With little else to do but sharpening his tool however, his mind thought over all that she had said to him last night. Her origins seemed as brutal as they come, he had to admit. Especially if it really was Gregor and his companions that she managed to escape from, that was a feat of its own, especially for a child at the time. Although, Robert's Rebellion was really when Gregor had bloomed into a killing machine, he was green in the ways of war back then, mistakes happened. Why had her manner not been blackened by that experience though? Maybe it was his deep familiarity with Gregor that made it so hard to deal with the fact that someone who also had suffered an attack from him wasn't burning for revenge as deeply as he was.

These thoughts were annoying and flitted about his mind continually as he tried to focus on his task and consider where the golden army was going to be moving in the days to come. Storms End was an incredibly powerful castle, would they march on it to prove their strength? Maybe their dragon queen would assist in its capture, dragons changed the game of war so dramatically, cursed Harrenhall would forever stand as testament to that. If Storms End it was, they would surely follow the coast and fall upon Griffon's Roost. Sandor couldn't imagine such a large host of people who weren't used to the chill of Westeros trying to make their way through the mountain passes that he traveled through to get here, even if it was the fabled Golden Company. No, they were bound for Griffin's Roost, that was the end of it. The only question was when would the host move?

Later in the evening, he had listened quietly to the other men talking among themselves as he filled his stomach on hard bread and gamey stew. Most talk was about where the company was headed, and most seemed to agree with his inner thoughts, the host was moving to Griffin's Roost. Nobody could agree on when though, but the scouts did point out they were foraging as much meat and edible goods as they possibly could, stocking up on the bounty of the forest before moving to less hospitable places. He had tuned out all of them by the time he was done eating, striding off to his camp silently once more.

He was stoking the small fire he kept outside of his tent when she appeared. "Found you." "Go away" she gave him a dramatic sigh and slowly set herself down on the far end of his log seat, covering up her wince from the jarring of her rib, all while he glared. "Not yet. I'm sure you acquainted yourself with the camp and such, that much is a given." he nodded impatiently "Out with it wench, I don't desire company, yours especially." "That's alright. Never been one to give a damn about the wants of others, personally." she smiled into the fire, the unbroken side of her face looked calm and ethereal in the warm light. His warning growl went unheeded, much to his displeasure.

"The commander of the Bloody Ravens should have briefed you by now, I'm sure he has not. So, I'll tell you what this particular unit is about, and what your place in it will most likely be." Now this was technical, possibly useful, information. Sandor slowly turned his head from the fire to look at her with a new interest. "Thought that would get your attention, nobody who likes living is content with little to no information about what they are to be doing." He snorted in response and made a small gesture with his hand for her to continue, setting aside his sword and resting his hands on his knees. "The Bloody Ravens are a mixed unit of archers, footmen and horse riders. Most members are capable of interchanging these roles and as such, that makes us a very special tool for the high command. Our unit is used for surgical strikes, sabotage, and various other dangerous behind enemy line style fights. We are known for our successes against impossible odds." her sneer was both verbal and visible, leaving him with a quirked brow and waiting for more.

"Basically, Edgur sends poor fools who he doesn't like on impossible missions, expecting them to die and no longer be a pain in his ass. But if they succeed the units reputation grows wild. A win for him either way, you see? So my advice to you is keep laying low, as much as an aurochs like you can anyway." she snorted "Avoid the dothraki twins, they are his lickspittles and like to look for fights. Meric and Moat are their names. Don't get on Edgur's bad side." she smirked, looking directly at him. Her gaze did not waver from his scars, and he appreciated her nerve, but he found himself chuckling all the same. "I'll not tuck my tail and hide from these fools, it will be their problem if they want to be on my bad side. You'll do well to remember that yourself, wench. Leave me be."

She wanted to chuckle but only managed a tired "Heh." in response as she slowly stood back up, intent on making her way back to her bedroll for some much-needed recovery time. His gaze was heavy on her back as he looked at the coppery sheen her long brown hair gave off in the fire light, wispy fingers that trailed down her spine and ribs, coming to rest at the small of her back. If he thought about it, he could still remember the soft ply of her flesh under his fingertips when he gripped it the other night. The thought made him scowl, it had been too long since he had a woman.

Her torso was wrapped tightly in fresh bandages, already stained red through in some places, and it hurt ever so much to sit up against the tree again. Tossing the scrap of her bedroll over her legs roughly, she scowled to herself in the darkness while clenching her knife in hand, the sleep of the injured tugging away at her consciousness. There was no moon overhead to determine how long she had slept, dark clouds obscured it thoroughly, but it did not feel like very long when her eyes shot open at the sound of multiple people approaching. "Elyse." the sharp, cruel voice of Edgur called out to her as him and his companions stopped at the edge of her camp.

"Commander." she grated out, voice deepened and ragged with sleep, not making a move to stand in his presence. "To what do I owe the pleasure of such good company?" the silent dothraki twins glowered at her, like they had half a mind to attack her over not moving when she was injured. Edgur's voice lowered into a honeyed tone however, which she understood was more dangerous than any yelling voice he could conjure. "The host moves in a weeks time, and there is a task I would set upon you and the new recruit. A test for him, if you will. Success is also paramount, which is why I'm sending you with him." Her fingertips fondled the leather wrapped handle of her knife while she thoughtfully wondered how it would look plunged into his neck, and the wideness of his watery eyes when he realized she had ended his life. Blinking away the fantasy, she kept silent and nodded for him to continue.

"Griffin's Roost is where the host will move, which you already knew. The keep is vulnerable, its lord and fighting men gone to war. You know what I require of you, and if the big fool can't keep up with his gimp leg, that is his own problem. You have three days to recover enough to travel, see that you do it swiftly." a brief pause "Aye commander, it will be done." the air was tense with hatred, them for her and her for them. "It better be, Shadow." They left then, leaving her thoughts heavy and troubled as she drifted back to sleep, even more eager to recover than she had been already.

Sandor was in a foul mood. The wenches words weren't a warning—they were a bloody omen of things to come. A squire had come running into his camp to summon him to his commanders tent that morning, and there he met the two dothraki cravens and the lithe, watery eyed fool who dared to be his commander. Edgur's blond hair and slight build were enough to remind him of the Lannisters, and for that reason alone he hated him. To send him on a suicide mission within the first few days of actually being here, it was purely a stupid waste of good men. Worse yet, to say that he was to be accompanied by the wench to make sure the mission succeeded? Insult to injury. But he was used to being a beaten dog and kept his emotions from his face and voice, much like when he served the Lannisters.

He found her in the armory tent, hair loose over her shoulders and obscuring the too large brown tunic she had donned, leaning over a map of the stormlands. Upon the long table was an array of weaponry and tools which he looked over while standing just inside the entrance. A longbow with quiver and arrows, two fine knives beside sheaths that were meant to be strapped to the lower back, her great sword and a small hatchet for wood and the like. It was clear all of it was made specifically to her size, there wouldn't be anything practical for a woman in the armory, even if she was larger than the average one. Her armor was on a mannequin and had been cleaned and polished with a practiced hand, and all the weapons were freshly sharpened too. "You aren't even going to be able to carry all that, wench." He muttered darkly, the mental image of all the weapons piled up on her and rendering her useless an amusing thought.

Ignoring his words, she crooked a finger at him over her shoulder, calling him over. Two brief strides closed the distance between the two and he took up the space to her left, resting a hand on the table as he partially leaned over her and looked at the map. "You've been briefed, we're bound for Griffon's Roost in two days. I'd discuss the path we'll take with you, if you're keen on not being lost." she remarked in a tired, snarky tone. She placed a thick, calloused fingertip onto the rainwood "We're here. I plan on taking this route." her fingertip snaked along the chosen path as she spoke. "But I have also never traveled through this place before, and you at least have come through the rainwood once. Is there anything you'd change?" "Aye" he grunted "If you don't want to be sucked into a bog like a fool, we'll make for the coast and follow it as long as we can." his finger thunked onto the map and charted the path as he spoke, to which she nodded grudgingly. "Of course. We will have to take to the woods closer to the destination, however." tapping her fingertip near the Roost, to which he grunted his ascent. "No horses. We'll make better time than the host even without them, and draw no eyes or ears. Your horse will be with the host, don't worry for him." she smirked, feeling him stiffen briefly at the mention, before turning to look up at him gravely. "If you fall behind because of your leg, I'll not wait. I expect you to keep up, your arm will be needed if this is to be successful, mark my words." His glare was acidic.

"I'm not the fool who will be carrying too much crap to move." he gave a sweeping gesture to the table, frowning. "Leave worrying about carrying my shit to me." she snapped, looking back down as she folded up the map neatly. "You'll be thankful for it." There would be no more contact between the two of them for the next two days, he didn't even see her in glimpses during them. The men eventually figured out that something was up, gossips that all bored men were, and he spent much of his time hiding in his tent to be free of annoying questions. At some points he had wished for his old reputation and the healthy dose of fear and the wide berth men used to give him for it, but he had left The Hound behind in many ways. The Quiet Isle had soothed him to a degree, and he agreed with Elder Brother when he had said that The Hound was dead, but his talent for violence was engraved on his soul and wasn't going anywhere, no matter how much Elder Brother babbled otherwise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two strong personalities clash as they trek through the Rainwood towards their goal.

"You look absurd and when you fall into a puddle and drown because you can't move, I won't save you." Sandor stated matter-of-factly. His supplies consisted of the greatsword over his back, a knife at his waist, his armor, bedroll and enough food in a sack to see him through the journey. She had actually forced him to carry a huge coil of rope over his shoulder too, claiming "It's for you anyways, not me." he took it angrily.

Elyse was carrying a backpack bigger than her torso. Her bow and quiver were strapped to the back of it, along with the small hatchet, and the inside was stuffed to the brim with food and other items she deemed necessary for the trip and task at the end of it. "I'd like to see you successfully complete this mission on your own. So if I do fall into a fucking puddle, I expect you to pull me out." It was sadly true, he had to admit. The idea that they were going to be successful at taking a bloody keep by themselves was absurd enough to begin with, but he had yet to see her balk at the assigned task. They had walked for hours and were both relieved to see the dark waters of shipbreaker bay when they crested a small hill that evening. "We'll camp here and then follow the coast to the west at first light." Her voice was pained, three days wasn't enough time to recover from the broken rib and between the jarring motion of walking and the pressing of her armor, it left her in a poor mood.

Sandor was in good shape despite the throbbing of his leg making him miss Stranger keenly, leaving him in good spirits considering his current situation. Several times he thought about killing her and making for Gregor, but patience was key, and he was confident that joining the company was a smart move in the long run. Elyse had knelt down and shunted off her backpack; resting a moment before heading to a nearby copse of trees to collect fire wood, taking the small hatchet with her. Before long there was a fire cracking merrily, surrounded by the two dourest people in Westeros.

"Feel free to tell me about your ugly face now." Elyse muttered. She had taken the leather armor off of her torso, followed by her loose shirt, and was slowly turning her bandages around so that the blood stained back was in the front and the wounds were covered by the untainted side. "Fire." he snapped. Ripping a hunk of hard bread out of his sack, he busied himself with chewing it to try to dissuade her, all while staring mercilessly at her firm teats. Undaunted by his stares and coarse nature, she dug out a piece of dried meat and chewed on it, staring back at him. It was then he noticed that her eyes were a dark green with a thick dark rim around the iris, the revelation leaving him blinking once in confusion. "Your eyes were gray." Smirking, she chewed the meat slowly, letting him mull over it before swallowing to speak. "Aye, they change color. Grey by day and green by night, I've been told. Uncommon, but not unheard of. You don't strike me as the kind to stare dreamily into the eyes of others though." She quipped.

"Most don't have the spine to look at my face, let alone my eyes, wench." he grumbled, finishing off his bread and flicking the crumbs off his leggings before starting the ritual of sharpening his weapons, starting with the dagger. "You take good care of your weapons" she remarked, picking at food bits in her teeth through the hole in her cheek nonchalantly. "Only a fool doesn't take care of his tools." "The world is full of fools." They both shared a smirk before she slid her knives from their sheaths at the small of her back and started sharpening them as well. "First or second watch?" she looked up at him from the knife as she asked, a brow quirked. "First." "You'll have second tomorrow, then." "So be it." It took some time for her to sharpen the knives, hatchet and greatsword, but when she finished she was sufficiently tired enough to lay out her bedroll. Crawling into it was painful, but she settled onto her back and rested her arms on top of the scratchy blanket, one hand clenched tightly around her dagger. Sandor did not miss the gesture of her lack of trust.

"I didn't kill you all day, I won't kill you at night, wench." He received a snort in response. "I'm no fool to trust that easily, gravedigger. I expect you'll sleep close to steel yourself, or will you leave it with your bag if I tell you I wont kill you in your sleep?" They both fell silent, she was tired and eager to get as much sleep as she could before he was to wake her, and soon her breathing softened into the familiar rhythm of sleep. Later, when he kicked her in the foot and she sprung up with a pained growl, he chuckled and sauntered off to get his sleep without a word. Morning found her rolling up her bedroll and stuffing a chunk of bread into her mouth to chew as she worked, packing away everything efficiently and scattering the warm embers of the fire into the soil with her bare foot. Sandor couldn't help but wince as he saw her foot raking through the coals, but busied himself with breaking his fast and rubbing sleep from his eyes. It was only a few moments work to have his own gear ready to go.

Before they left, Elyse stared off into the mist, frowning. "See something, wench?" Sandor turned to look down at her before looking in the direction she was, not seeing what she was. "Dark wings, dark words. Raven." He grunted in response, finally seeing the bird making its way North and overhead through the mist. Nothing more to be said on the matter, they began their trip westward.

The southern coast of shipbreaker bay was rocky and inhospitable at best and they were forced to weave between it and the thick forest of the rainwood, often following game trails. There was a blessed silence between the two of them that they both appreciated, introverted as they both were. Camping each night became a familiar ritual, rotating watches and Elyse asking about his face every night, and every night the answer was the same "Fire." occasionally with a curse attached to it.

Elyse was thankful that her rib wasn't throbbing continually anymore. Both the break and her wounds had died to a much more reasonable throb, punctuated by itching. She had even been inclined to catch some game when they were camping in the forest some nights, giving Sandor a smug look each time when she waggled the bird or rabbit she had shot with an arrow, daring him to tell her that the bow was useless. He never did. One particular clear day, some five days into their travels, she called out "Hold! Do you know your letters?" the question caught him off guard for a moment before he responded. "Seven hells girl, do you see any buggering books around here?" They faced off, glaring at one another briefly "Quickly you damn aurochs, say it true. Can you read or not?" "Stupid wench, yes I can. Are you happy now with your useless information?" She dropped her backpack and equipped her bow with haste then, calling out to him as she darted over a small rise "Stay there!"

He had half a mind to keep walking and leave the bitch behind, but he was curious now. Some time later she crested the hill, eyes gleaming in triumph as she brandished a large raven impaled upon one of her fine arrows. "It carried a message. Lets read it, shall we?" She carefully pulled the arrow out of the bird and put it back into her quiver before gripping its legs and tugging the message free, offering it up to Sandor. "The Golden Company has no allies in Westeros but the Dragon Queen herself, there is no reason for correspondence to be coming to and fro from the host." she tapped her temple, frowning. "You suspect treachery, I suppose?" Sandor commented boredly as he unrolled the letter and scanned over it. She watched his expression as he read, the way his scarred and unscarred brows furrowed and his lip twitched. "You won't get anything out of this, all key words are symbolic of something. Can't understand unless you know what the symbolic words mean." she huffed in frustration "Tell me anyways."

"There will be music aplenty to choose from in Storms End, what kind is up to you. Look forward to your choice. Not signed, written by a fine hand, and the message is definitely not about music. That is all I can make of it." He shoved the letter back at her. Nodding, she took it and stuffed it into her backpack which she slung back over her shoulders and nodded in a westerly direction. "Best be on the move before night falls, let me know if you see any more ravens. We are perhaps two days from Griffin's Roost, tomorrow we'll fall back into the woods and discuss our approach." He grunted his ascent and she grunted back at him mockingly. That night they ate the raven in companionable silence, both brooding on the task in the days to come.

There was one point in time the next day when they had veered deeper into the woods away from the bay, when Sandor ended up falling into a bog. Elyse managed to pull him out after he flung a portion of the rope she had gave him to her, and to her credit she did not say a word other than to call him a huge idiot. But he was also furious, maybe it just wasn't a good idea to prod him at that moment. His food was spoiled by the water and he had to discard it, too. That very evening Elyse had called a halt in a thick copse of trees well out of sight of the bay. When their fire was crackling and they had both dragged logs out to sit on, she stared across the flames at him and grinned "Well this might be your last night breathing, ready to tell me yet?" "Wench, your time is going to be up before you even see the roost if you don't shut up about my face." she smirked, it was the same thing he said every other night, just worded differently.

Picking up her bag and striding around the fire to sit beside him uninvited, she dug out the map and unfolded it, planting it across her knees for them both to look at. "Well then lets talk about something productive, yes?" Tapping her finger to the map she grinned, ghoulish in the light of the fire. "Griffin's Throat, we'll make it by nightfall tomorrow, unless you want to swim in some more bogs of course." He tamped down the urge to throttle her, she was much more spry these past few days and recovering well despite their pace, it wouldn't do to break her down before she could be useful. "I thought we could just slaughter the green boys or crippled men left to guard it, personally." He rasped, earning a sneer from her. "Why am I not surprised? This castle has three sides that are rocky cliffs that lead down to shipbreaker bay, yes?" He nodded "I am going to climb it, and you will walk through the gates when I signal to you." The ruined side of his face crinkled as he snapped incredulously "So I kept you alive this entire time for you to fall off a fucking castle and die uselessly?"

Her smirk was decidedly cocky. "They called me the shadow back in Essos, do you know why? Shadows pass over and under everything without a care. You'll see, this is why I survive when Edgur sends me off to die. Maybe you'll be the first partner to come back in one piece." her eyes glittered, staring at him excitedly as if daring him to physically challenge her declaration. His shoulders tensed as his steel-gray eyes glared down at her, sorely tempted. "You want to die? It's your choice, I don't care enough to stop you. If that gate isn't open by the hour of the wolf, I'll assume you dead and act of my accord." She grinned then, folding up the map and standing up to stretch and pop her spine noisily. "Done. Out of curiosity, would you even do?" She sauntered over to her bed roll while waiting his response. He had pulled out his sharpening stone and began the ritual of sharpening his sword once more, glaring into the fire. "Kill them all. Maybe save a whore or two." She chuckled darkly. "If there really is Seven Hells, I'll see you there." It was strange, his shoulders visibly slumped at her words and the sounds of the fire crackling and night animals singing ruled the air once again, carrying her to sleep.

When it was her turn to watch, she found herself observing him closely. He did not sleep well, that much was obvious. His ruined face would twist into a soundless snarl, fingers twitching at his sword—which he did keep near him, like she had originally accused. She decided the unburned portion of his face was decidedly handsome, and the stubble of a few days without a shave suited him well. Idly cleaning beneath her fingernails with her knife, she considered what little she knew about him. A well seasoned warrior who avoided the other men, had a hideously burned face, did his best to lay low and liked to hide his face in a cloak. It's the behavior of someone who is hiding something, but was it just his face? Pursing her lips, she thought No, you're hiding a reputation, I know how that goes.Her gaze drifted off into the darkness, towards where she knew Griffon's Roost to be. Maybe there is a breadcrumb there. If you won't tell me, I'll find out one way or another, my sullen friend.

As the glow of dawn filtered through the trees, she began to whistle an old tune her father favored when he lived. Rolling up her bedroll and spreading out the remains of the fire like usual, she was actually caught off guard when the gravedigger tackled her clean to the soft forest floor and held his knife to her throat, eyes wild. Blinking, she raised a hand in a calming gesture "Seven hells! What is your bloody malfunction?" Snarling, he pressed the blade firmly against her throat and she felt the sting of a new wound coming on "The tune you whistled, where did you hear that? Tell me or by the seven this face is the last thing you'll see!" Eyebrows pinching together and lips curling into a snarling frown of her own, she growled out angrily "You're fucking crushing me over a tune? My father used to whistle it. Nothing more, nothing less." He hesitated then, and that was all she needed.

Her knee rose up sharply and nailed him in the groin, causing him to suck in a sharp breath and curl inwards. Enraged, she rolled over him and pulled both her daggers from her back and crossed them over his neck in an X shape. "Drop the knife or I'll drop your head, full of fucking rocks that it is." He had recovered from the sharp blow quickly, but tossed his knife aside as she bid, breathing heavily and glaring up at her, straddled across his waist as she was. Tamping down her fury, she whispered dangerously "Now, you'll tell me what is so horrible about this tune, I don't think that is too much to ask considering your current predicament." She pinched at his neck just slightly in emphasis, drawing a bead of blood like she knew he did to her. Growling at her, he kept his hands planted on the ground for her to see, just in case. "The Rains of Castamere was a traditional family tune for you, wench? Your father was some Lannister dog, was he?" She sniffed contemptuously. "My father was a simple fisherman, and we lived closer to Harrenhall than Casterly Rock, but we would consider ourselves Westerlanders I suppose. Not that any of that shit mattered, we simply lived together and supported each other, like small villages tend to."

He had spread his legs out slowly as she spoke, all while keeping perfect eye contact. She was too slow to react when he threw his legs up to his chest past her and planted his feet into her own chest, flinging her back as hard as he could. Her grunt and a satisfying crash into the underbrush signaled her landing. Both of them were on their feet and armed in the moments to follow. Unfortunately for her, he picked up his great sword and she was brandishing her two short daggers, both of them glaring at each other furiously.

"Well, you great aurochs, we could spend our morning fighting through this fucking forest or we could get back on track, I'll leave it to you to decide." There it was, she laid down the truce, free for him to take if he pleased. Fists clenching and unclenching around the hilt of his great sword, he snarled. "Offering a truce when I'm the one with the advantage, girl? How very kind of you." Her eyes, now that light gray, glittered as she waited silently. Finally, he nailed down his temper with an annoyed huff, lowering the tip of his sword in acceptance. To which she replied by smoothly sliding her daggers back into their sheaths and returning to packing up camp like nothing had happened. He was not going to assume that she would truly let this slide, but he was not going to complain about her shutting up and getting back to work, either. Bloody Lannisters! He thought, having gone unhinged at the thought of her being some servant of theirs, but it was not logical and he understood that he acted irrationally. All seven hells would freeze over before he would even think about apologizing, though.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elyse proves her worth and brutality while learning more about her partner. Sandor is not very accepting.

Elyse was right, Griffon's Roost and the throat were within their sight early the very next day. Sandor was left to creep as close to the Throat gatehouse as he dared, keeping well out of sight of whatever sentries may be there. Elyse took the length of rope she had him carrying and left him with her backpack and the majority of it's contents, even her great sword and bow. All she took with herself was the rope and her knives, which left him incredulous but thankful that he wasn't going to lose all these supplies when she promptly fell to her death. Once he was in position, it was just a matter of watching and waiting, all the parts he hated. At one point, Sandor was sure that he saw her creeping up the southeast side of the cliff face below the castle itself like a spider, little more than a speck. That was the only time he did though, he was left wondering as the sun went down.

She dangled below the stone blocks of the keep for some hours, waiting for the onset of darkness to cover her entry into the castle. The rope she had brought was fashioned into a seat for her to rest in, wrapped firmly around a spike of red rock jutting out from the cliff face. It was a clear moonless night, conditions were never going to be better than this. Rope secured around her shoulders once more, she continued her ascent once more, slowing considerably once she reached the large blocks of the actual castle itself. Her bare feet were integral in grasping at the smallest of ridges and her fingertips wedged into every crack and uneven surface with the practiced ease of an expert. There wasn't even a patrol on the part of the ramparts she climbed over, flitting across them like a shadow in the night. Her hair was left unbound, making it easier to hide in shadows if need be, and billowed around her like knives as she made for the maester's tower, where the ravens were kept.

Inside the tower there was no guard, not one person to stop her from slipping into the maester's chambers. The old maester pissed himself when he woke up to see her horrific face highlighted by the candle he had left burning beside his bed, probably scarier than the long knife resting against his throat. "Good evening, maester. I trust you have a few minutes of time to spare me, even if it's late." Her voice was low, thrumming with the rush of power she felt over the old fool. "O-of course, please, please don't kill me." His hands trembled at the blankets as she smoothly sat down beside him, minding his piss stained blankets. "Shhh, don't fear. I am seeking information about a burned man, well-known in Westeros. What say you?" she rubbed the side of the dagger against his neck teasingly, letting him feel the cold steel and tremble. "Th-th-the h-h-h-hound?" "Is that what they call him? I do not know. Tell me about this hound, good ser." Her lips curled into a twisted smile.

"He has been d-dead for some time, m-my l-l-lady. Oh please, please! He s-served the l-l-lannisters, and was known as one of the few swordsmen without peer in Westeros, also of unmatched cruelty and.. and ugliness, because of his burned face. D-during the b-b-battle of the b-blackwater, h-he deserted and fled. H-he was announced dead by t-the e-e-elder brother of the qu-quiet isle, who buried him himself, some moons later. S-since then, there have been imposters with his d-d-dogs head h-helmet spotted throughout the r-realm. Please! Th-that is all I kn-know! You must believe me!" His voice rose in desperation, entire body trembling in terror as he waited for her response. Tapping her dagger against his neck lovingly, she smiled brightly "I believe that is exactly what I wanted to know, good maester. You have been very helpful to me and shall be rewarded richly." His entire body visibly relaxed as she pulled the dagger from his throat casually, but his eyes flew open wide as saucers as she plunged it into his heart instead, without pause. "Mercy." She whispered as the ravens croaked hungrily in their cages.

Something was happening. Sandor could see in the distance torches being gutted in the keep and along the ramparts, slowly but surely cloaking it in darkness. At one point there was no mistaking a man holding a torch going flying off the southern ramparts to dash into the unforgiving cliff face below. It was some time later that the torches were snuffed from the gatehouse one by one, prompting him to pick up her belongings and cautiously stride towards the building. As he reached the gate, it rose slowly. The grinding of metal, wood and rope the only sound to be heard, making him clench his sword in wariness at the eerie scene. He kept himself from calling out, instead putting down the backpack and it's contents within the entrance as the gate slid back down promptly. As he strode towards the gatehouse doorway he paused, hearing a faint gasping and shuffling sound. Sword at the ready, he waited, only to see one of the guards stumbling out and holding his guts in disbelief. The mans face was hard to make out in the pure darkness, but he knew the look of a dying man by heart anyways. There was no resistance when he cleaved the man's head off, aside from his spine.

A soft scoffing sound called out to him from the doorway. "He was dying anyways. Waste of effort on your part, I'd say. Lets go." She swooped past him and grabbed up her backpack, striding towards the main gate of the dark, silent castle once more. Incredulous, he followed without a word. Hidden just beside the castle gate was the large rope, she had tied it to one of the crenellations of the parapet above and let it down for them to climb back up. He was further surprised when she scaled the wall with the ridiculous backpack on with a practiced ease, despite all the climbing she had clearly done the entire day and whatever fighting she had undergone while clearing out the area. Once they were over the parapet and on the rampart they paused to collect themselves, he observed another sprawled out shape of a dead man in a doorway to his left.

"How many are here? Can't be many if no one has noticed half the damn castle is pitch black." He muttered. "There are still a few around, they are going to notice soon, if they aren't suspicious yet. We can deal with them together without raising any alarms easily enough. You can lead on, if it please you." She made a dismissive gesture for him to get moving. "I'll deal with them, you go make sure nobody gets to the ravens." he could have sworn she grinned broadly at him then, but she had turned away and darted off through the watch tower doorway without any delay. Hunkering down and looking over the edge into the center of the courtyard, he watched as a green boy leaned against the doorway to what was probably the kitchens, the torch in the sconce beside him making him as night blind as it gets. It was no surprise when he saw her calmly walking towards him like a shadow. Unable to see her face properly, the guard made a vague gesture to the doorway and she casually tilted her head to his ear for a moment before sliding into the darkness inside the door frame, leaving it open behind herself.

The fool looked left and right quickly before hopping in after her, fancying a quick romp, he wagered. He knew what happened to him then, time to get on with his own work. He made his way down the stairs as she had, and kept to the outer edges of the courtyard, there he'd slip into the smithy and kill him and his apprentice as they slept. From the smithy he slipped into the second guard tower and killed an old lame man who was also sleeping, never to wake up for duty again. Back up on the ramparts he silently dispatched each of the remaining sentries and doused the last torches.

The gentle rays of dawn were beginning to spill over the horizon as he carefully walked into the kitchen door that the ill-fated green boy walked into earlier that night. "I was wondering when you'd finally come in." That familiar husky voice called to him, leaving him blinking at the sight before him. It was the kitchens, but there was the body of an old woman slumped over a cook pot, her life blood having damn near filled it, and Elyse standing beside two people bound to separate chairs, white with fright and silent in terror. "I caught us some presents, for a job well done. Wasn't much to pick from, but I thought she was pretty enough, young maid that she is." Stepping beside the girl who had tears streaming from her eyes and was clenching her jaw to keep from sobbing openly, Elyse stroked her fingers through her soft brown hair that had been undone for the night before sliding around her to grip the edge of the boys chair. Well, it was a man, but tears flowed from his eyes like they would from any green boy who had his ass beat by a woman, he wagered. "This one is mine... Feel free to take yours wherever, I already sent a raven ahead to announce our success, so don't go worrying about that."

When she started to drag the man away by the chair, both him and the girl started whimpering hysterically. Standing there, he just watched silently as she yanked the door to the hall open and was thrown into the light of a still burning torch, she was covered head to toe in blood and gore, it even dripped from her hair in sticky cords. The scraping of her dragging away the man slowly faded away in his ears, leaving only the steady rush of his pulse and the gentle sobbing of what was possibly the only other person left alive in the whole damn keep. He couldn't find it in himself to even utter a sigh as he walked past her and grabbed up the dead body of what was probably her mother or something, tossing it into the hallway for the time being. From there he started up a fire in the kitchen fireplace, throwing light into the blood spattered room. He wasn't much better looking, blood from opened arteries having spilled onto his chest and still in the process of drying, but it made no matter.

Slowly, he turned to face the girl who had gone quiet, watching at the familiar reaction of seeing his burned face; the eyes widening, slight shaking of the head, maybe she even recognized who he was from some tale or another. Closing the space between himself and the girl, he knelt beside her and pushed her hair from her face in an attempt to be tender, to which she clenched her eyes shut, probably willing the night away. "Not going to be gone when you open your eyes, girl. What is your name?" He tried to school his tone to something resembling tender, but it was just the usual harsh rasp, blast his vocal cords. Her eyes opened with fresh tears pricking at them, and he couldn't help himself when he planted a finger under her chin and made her look at him, waiting for the answer to his question. "Dolly. I'm Dolly." Her voice was broken from all the sobbing she had done, just a high-pitched rasp of her own. "Who and where is the lord of this keep?" he pressed, resting an arm across his knees and another across the back of the chair she was tied to. "R-ronnet Connington, he is not here. He went to fight in the riverlands, we heard." Letting her catch her breath a moment, he pressed on. "Who is castellan here then, girl?" "The m-maester, old Rosby. He's so old, please don't hurt him, he couldn't do anything t-to you or the woman..." She whispered pathetically, eyes as wide as saucers as she stared up at him. He didn't bother to tell her that he was surely dead, only giving her hair a slow pat, stroking his gloved fingers through it for a few moments. The action seemed to calm her, much to his surprise, and she closed her eyes. It made drawing the dagger and planting it in her heart easier than if he had to see or hear her terror, at least.

The sound of heavy footsteps and doors slamming down the hall alerted her to the hound's approach. Thankfully she was already done, being interrupted would not do. The body of the man lay naked and cooling on the bed behind her, at least he died happy, she reasoned. Standing up smoothly, she waited for the door to be flung open, hands resting on the hilts of her daggers casually. She did not have to wait long. The door itself was nearly knocked off its hinges as the hound filled the doorway and stormed into the room, the glare of violence in his eye as he closed the space between her and him frightfully fast. Thankfully she was prepared and drew her daggers immediately, stilling him as he heaved in a breath, looking like an angry bull. "Which of the seven hells did you crawl out of to torment me, demon?" His sword was in his hands and before she could retort he had swung it with all the violence his arms could muster. Her jump was all that spared her from being cleaved in half, unlike the bed post behind her that went flying with a shower of splinters. Landing atop the bed she leaped backwards to avoid another broad murderous stroke, letting out a crazed laugh. "What, you're a sell sword with a fucking heart? You're just as covered in blood and guts as me, and the roots of your violence run just as deep as mine... Maybe deeper." His eyes flashed and he kicked the bed, dead body and all, upwards and backwards towards her. Slammed into the wall by the bed she snarled, kicking it back and rolling across it and past him as his sword cleaved a chunk of stone from the wall where she had been pinned "Hound."

"NO." He bellowed, turning and chasing after her through the door and into the hallway, swinging in wild, furious arcs that left stone showering out of the walls that were touched by the cleaving blows. "The Hound is dead, and so are you!" He was maddened, enraged. It did not take much of any effort for her to keep ahead of him and lead him through the keep, burning away his fury as they went. As she guided him through the keep, he laid witness to the extent of the killing she did that night. More times than he cared to see there was a child or an elderly man or woman in a hall, cradling their spilled guts or torn throats in silent disbelief, all of them dead. As they leaped up a stairwell, his long strides forcing her to skip several steps at a time or be overran, she called out "And what, do you think all of them would have been given mercy by the golden company? I was the only woman there! Every woman and girl in this keep would have serviced the entire fucking host while it was here, you fool!" They crashed out on to the walkway into the mist of morning, where she stood her ground and began fighting in earnest with him. "And all the men and boys would either be slaved or thrown into Shipbreaker Bay below!" she huffed wildly as she bent backwards to avoid another cleave that would had sundered her torso from the rest of her body. Unfortunately she couldn't avoid the foot planted into her groin at the same time and let out a cry as he kicked her into the air over the courtyard, letting out a triumphant roar.

Time felt slower, the rush of battle did strange things to you at times, this was one of those times. Grasping her knives tightly she tucked into a roll and landed in the dirt of the yard with as much grace as she could muster, the blow of the landing softened by the rolling motion. As she rolled to her feet and spun to face him, she saw his face contorted in fury still and watched as he spun around with a flourish and went crashing through the doorway, intent on chasing her further it seemed. Heaving for air, she looked around wildly, trying to find something to diffuse the damn situation. The sound of a wooden door all but exploding sent her running towards the smithy as fast as her taxed legs could carry her. He saw her run in there, and so came charging after without further thought. She was thankful for the fact he was so angry, it dulled his more practical thoughts, the part of his mind that would ask why she ran in to a smithy. This proved to serve her well as he took the anvil she swung with all her might to the side of his face the second he rounded the corner.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor loses his position of power and Elyse presses the advantage to lay out some ground rules.

The first thing that came to him when he returned to consciousness was that the agony in his head was immense, followed by being unable to move his arms and legs. No sooner than when he made groan of pain was it followed by a brief scrape of wood against wood, leading to icy water being poured over him. "SEVEN HELLS!" he roared and sputtered, eyes flying open as he took in his situation and sought the offending fool who was going to pay. He was tied to a chair, ankles to the legs and his wrists together to the back of the chair behind him, and he was in only his smallclothes. Elyse was standing in front of him with a bucket in hand, a distinctly predatory look on her maimed face. "Good morning." She murmured, lips curling into a grin.

"I was worried that I had brained you, what with the anvil and all. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that you are probably fine—boulders for brains and a thick skull to boot." He shivered, skin prickling as a cool draft wafted over him, but there was a fire keeping the nondescript bedroom warm at least. Growling at her, his voice heavy with sleep and raspier than usual from lack of talking "When I am free, there is no castle, tree or mountain that you could climb to keep me from tearing your fucking guts out with my hands and strangling you with them." he kept his tone matter-of-fact as her eyes narrowed, meeting his own gaze unflinchingly. "That's not very nice, Gravedigger." She pointedly refrained from calling him The Hound, clearly doing such before was a mistake.

"I've let you live thus far, why should you not give me the same courtesy, hmm? I even cleaned up your armor for you, generous soul that I am." He couldn't see his armor or weapons anywhere in the room, but he didn't sense any lie from her either. She had cleaned herself and her armor thoroughly, no more blood to be found on either at a glance. Swigging from a wineskin as she set the bucket down beside her, standing a few feet in front of him, she licked her lips and slurped slightly to keep wine from leaking out of her cheek. "Way I see it, I did my job, and you did yours fine too. No need to tell the commander about your little episode, and you can keep on your way and not have to look my way again most likely. How does that sound?"

His head throbbed dully as he considered her words, ruined lips pursed into a thin frown. "You gain nothing by letting me live, what the fuck is your game?" He did want to live after all, Gregor awaited him. The idea of letting her live after what he saw, though... Was not to his taste. There was no soft woman's heart inside of this creature, and the way she went about her job was almost euphoric and joyful—not even the most dedicated sellsword acted like that. She smirked at him, like he was truly dumb. "It is so hard to find people like me. I'm loathe to kill you off, and yes I understand that could bite me in the ass very easily. But, I am a bit of a gambler." she paused to take another swig of wine, a thick red line spilling across her jaw and down her neck. "You are more useful than just your sword arm as well, you're a native that has lived here your whole life. You have useful knowledge, and I want you alive to tap into that when it pleases me."

His anger simmered as he listened to her, she was a player of sorts. She might not be playing for the damn throne, but she was moving him around like a piece all the same. It was infuriating. The legs of the chair creaked ominously as he flexed his legs against them slowly, testing. "I'm not like you and I'm not your pawn, you hells spawned wench. If you free me I will see fit to let you live, and you'll be thankful for getting that much." he snapped, seething. The slap she delivered to his unburned face jerked his head to the side and made his vision explode in white stars from the pain in his head. With a vicious speed she moved up between his legs and planted her hands on his thighs, one digging into his injury and making him snarl and try to cringe his immobile leg away. "You will call me by my name." Prying her hand off his good thigh, she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her, their glares boring in to one another, green on gray. "I don't expect you to like me or be anything less than coarse with me, either. But you will refrain from attacking me from this day onwards, or by the gods old and new you will know me to be this hell spawned demon you accused me of. Do you understand me?" Her hand clenched tightly at his leg with a fearfully strong grip, but that was no surprise; the bitch climbed castle walls like he cleaved men, with ease.

Crack. The leg of the chair attached to his good leg snapped clean off as he let out a pained and furious howl "FINE!" All at once she had let go of his leg and jaw, withdrawing from him as he heaved for breath and tried to recover from his agony. "Good." She hissed, looking down at his one free leg before her eyes raked up across his muscled body appreciatively, a look he missed as he had his eyes tightly closed and tried to fight the migraine pulsing through his skull. He could feel her walking around behind him, free hair trailing across his skin gently as she knelt and worked the merciless knot binding his wrists together free. His hands dangled down to his sides limply while she strode past him, taking another hearty swig of red. Her voice was thick and husky as she looked at him from the doorway "You can get your feet free yourself. Kitchen is stocked and there is some good dornish sour in there, if you're so inclined. We have perhaps a solid week before the company arrives so, do as you please."

By the time he had located his clothing and armor, clothed himself, and ate his fill in the kitchens—it was hard to resist the wine and drink water instead—the smell of burning flesh and clothing began to waft through the air, drawing him outside. In the courtyard there was a great pyre, full of bodies twisted in agony, he retched at the sight of all the burning flesh. Elyse was there too, watching over her handiwork and making sure no stray sparks got loose. But it wasn't windy out and everything was still damp with dew, the sun not above the castle walls yet. Drawn to the sound of him retching, she was watching him intently when he finally stood up and swiped his mouth with the back of his bare hand. Wisely, she kept her quip to herself, he was clearly out of sorts. "Couldn't bury them all by myself, burning will have to do." She remarked in a soft tone.

"Aye." He grated, slowly walking towards her. He was fully armed again, sword over his back and knife at his hip, but so was she—and she had her own great sword on as well. Casually she twisted to face him and the fire, intent on watching both. He gave her a dismissive gesture, the throbbing lump on his head subdued him, along with thoughts of the Blackwater and a child screaming as his face melted. "How did you come to know who I am?" Her head tilted just slightly at his question and she thought over her words carefully before voicing them with a guarded tone. "The maester here. Don't know your real name though, truth be told." They both frowned at each other thoughtfully, faces twisting gruesomely. "Knowing who you are makes little matter. Your reputation may be useful, or a hindrance, depending. It was purely curiosity that made me ask." He snorted. "Bullshit." Neither felt the need to elaborate on or question his statement, having The Hound with the company had potential far-reaching consequences, she just didn't know enough to know what they could be, yet. He let it be though, she didn't need to know more than she did already, as far as he was concerned.

"The Hound is not well liked in Westeros. It would serve you to keep knowledge of me to yourself, Elyse." "Oh, you need not worry about that. I have no intentions on parading you around. Like I said, it is unlikely we'll have much contact with one another after this mission anyways. I am an admittedly shitty horse rider, and you have a fine war-horse of your own, Edgur will make use of you more wisely, if he has any brains." he grunted in assent as she tossed a couple of logs on the pyre. Crossing her arms thoughtfully, she looked up at the clear sky over the gates of the castle, the tone of her voice measured. "Although, sending you off to die with me merely a few days after you arrived like he did... I suspect he might just hate you because your face reminds him of me, I really wouldn't put it past him." He had to bark a laugh, it would be his luck.

Shrugging lightly, she tilted her head to look back at him, bright gray eyes piercing. "If it does come to be that he keeps us together, fool that he is; I would like to know your name, the real one." He snorted "And if I don't tell you, you'll just go torturing some other people to find out, girl?" Her eyes narrowed in warning. "I did not torture the maester, I gave him mercy. You know the mercy fighting men give one another." His lips tightened, disposition softening ever so slightly at the idea that she did know mercy. He gave it to the girl she left him without pause, after all. "Hardly my fault that he pissed himself when he saw my face." she quipped, and they both barked a harsh laugh. "Aye, wouldn't be the first time some fool pissed himself when seeing me. I know this well enough. I am Sandor Clegane." She nodded and just like that, the tension between the two melted slightly, even as they stood in front of the pile of bodies until they were nothing but smoldering char.

She spent the later portion of the day shoveling the bones and char out of the castle and on to the jutting rocks of the cliff face below, he didn't help. Instead, he took inventory of weapons, food, and anything he deemed useful. Tools and weapons were piled and sorted through in the blacksmith's building and all the clean blankets he could find he piled in one of the few rooms that had not been soiled by blood and guts. That night he sat at the table in the hall with Elyse, both giving one another several chairs worth of space, and ate their fill of a thick stew she had made. Gulping at a mug full of cold ale, Elyse chuckled and looked over at him, swiping her cheek with the back of her hand. In the middle of the table between themselves she had put down an old map of Westeros and weighed the corners down with mugs. He looked up from the stew he was glaring into to stare back at her. "What?" "The Golden Company will help the Mother of Dragons conquer Westeros." She reached out and tapped the map casually. "It seems prudent that we should look at the options and consider where we may be sent next. Odds are we will be continually sent ahead to crucial points, either in force or small groups, while the host tackles large objectives."

"Dragons." He muttered contemptuously before standing up and leaning over the table to look across the map better. She stood and slurped from her ale messily, coming to stand arm to arm with him, adding her gaze to the map. "Aye, dragons. Don't blame you for not being a fan, either." Putting her mug down with a thunk she planted a thick digit on Storms End. "You know the company is going there, it's obvious." he nodded "But the Bloody Ravens will never see Storms End, we will be sent abroad. The capitals of each kingdom of Westeros must fall if the Mother wants to control it, also obvious." His brows furrowed and he looked down at her "Anything not obvious you want to add, genius?" Returning his gaze with her own alcohol flushed one, she smirked. "I don't know the lay of the land, that is your job. All I know is logical travel of the host, to each neared capital castle. Where are important trade routes, towns that aren't on the map, good ambush locations, and so on. That is what I want to know, and from that I can probably tell you where we will be heading."

"Fair enough." he grumbled, looking at the map thoughtfully. He had a talent for strategy, but he had not thought there would be a time that he would apply it in such a situation. Normally it was just a natural flow of thought that helped him keep a step ahead of an enemy, or allowed him to follow the conversation of battle commanders and assess their reasoning, this was different. Passing his hand over hers and tapping at a thick river in the Kingswood, he muttered "The Wendwater will need to be controlled by the golden company to ensure safe passage of the host, it is a natural bottleneck in the Kingswood. It would be easy to keep them on the other side of it with just a token force. Beyond that, the entire Kingswood would be an ideal place to harry and harass with smaller numbers." Pausing, he looked at King's Landing thoughtfully, liking the idea of all the Lannisters being lit aflame by the Dragon Bitch and roasting in their bloody red castle. She took notice of his grin but remained quiet.

"If Dorne aligns with the Dragon Queen and her forces, Oldtown would be doomed to be pinched between the two. Dorne from the sea and the company from land, even if Dorne doesn't have the sea power it used to, it makes no matter. But Lannisport and Casterly Rock would be the company's first step after King's Landing, it is much closer and the Lannisters could retake King's Landing from behind the host if they let them be." she nodded, listening and watching as he trailed between each keep with his finger. "The Gold Road should be taken by the host from King's Landing, meaning each crossing of the Blackwater Rush must be secured. Deep Den would have to fall, and the mountain pass is dangerous—the host would be whittled down and ambushed there, both from the cold and from the westerlanders. Those are just the more obvious places, there are any number of woods, villages and flatlands between King's Landing and Casterly Rock."

Feeling a bit fuzzy and unfocused from the ale and wine she had consumed, her hand bumped into his accidentally as she planted it on the Wendwater. He kept his hand still, watching her closely. "You're right, we would be sent to the Kingswood to secure the Wendwater and root out any other small forces that King's Landing would have harass us there. Probably have the whole Bloody Ravens force move into that forest." She paused then, noticing his hand touching hers finally, causing her to quirk a brow at the anomaly. Casually he pulled his hand away and straightened up, looking down at her with narrowed eyes. Straightening up a moment after him, he watched as her back went straight and her shoulders and chest puffed out, something he watched smaller people do often when trying to not be intimidated. He smirked and kept that to himself as he stepped back to his chair, sitting heavily and returning to his now cold food.

Lips pursed and eyes narrowed she followed suit, but he could feel her hungry gaze burning him while she mulled over her thoughts. "Can't we just rut and get it over with?" She finally snapped, as if he was blind. He inhaled his water and started coughing. "Perhaps another time then." He was still coughing and smacking his chest as she wandered off to sleep. "Seven hells!" he rasped after finally recovering, staring off after her. However, despite her statement he found his head throbbing too hard to consider the offer seriously and did not seek her out that night.


	7. Chapter 7

It was missing and Sandor was furious. He spent the better part of the next morning shouting for Elyse and hunting her down through the castle. When he finally found her he cornered her in a dead-end hall and reached for his sword, resting his hand on its hilt as he glared and bared his teeth like the dog he was. "Where is it?" Her hand was on her own sword, but she was waiting for him to make the move that would effectively break the truce and send one of them to their grave. Cautiously, she muttered "Where is what? Bloody hells you've been bellowing for me for two hours, couldn't have spent that time looking for whatever it is you lost?" But he could see the lie in her gray eyes and it raised his ire to new heights, leaving him snarling and pointing his free hand at her accusingly "I can smell your lie, bitch. Give it here and then thank whatever gods you believe in that I let you live again." Her eyes narrowed sharply.

"Who holds The Hound's black heart?" The corners of her lips curved up cruelly as she slowly reached into a pocket, confirming his suspicions. From the pocket she pulled a dirtied silk ribbon of a fine blue color, rubbing her fingers into it slowly. "To keep such a token, she must be your true owner." Her voice had softened, but carried with it a question that he didn't care to answer. Striding forwards he grasped the ribbon and her whole hand, squeezing as he rasped darkly. "I've not attacked you, and I've even been using your name, Elyse. But I'll not suffer you stealing from me again. This is the rule I make for you." Squeezing her hand in his tighter with each word until she was visibly wincing "Do. Not. Steal. From. Me!" All at once he let her hand go and snatched the ribbon, tucking it away as he spun around and stormed off. Grasping her hand and gently massaging it, she watched him leave while frowning thoughtfully.

Over the next few days Sandor noticed that Elyse never slept in the same place twice and was making sure to stay out of his sight, which suited him fine. She had some kind of misplaced attraction to him, which was completely absurd considering their violent clashes. He had gone the extra mile to widen the separation between himself and her by sitting at the entirely opposite end of the hall table when eating, or eating in the kitchen by himself instead. She had begun to patrol the walls of the keep, longbow strung over her back as she watched for movement. He spent his time sharpening every weapon and tool in the entire smithy and making small repairs to his mail.

I could have been a blacksmith he thought to himself with a smirk. The heat of the forge and the rhythmic smashing of hammer and anvil suited him well enough, but life had directed him down a bloodier path. Elder Brother would have been excited about it. He sneered at the ringlet he was fixing. At some point he felt her heavy stare against his back, choosing to ignore it. Wench can look all she bloody well wants. It was almost refreshing to be looked at sexually, but strange. His nature left him not trusting that was really what it was about. The idea of a woman who could actually look him in the face was exciting though, even if looking into her own wasn't easy.

She was enjoying the flexing of his muscles and watching the sweat trickle down them, wondering what it would be like to play with his strength and have him under her control, the idea was exciting. But she only allowed herself to look for a few minutes before calling out "Company will be here tomorrow, they are within eye shot. Best make sure you're ready to move and are well rested." He grunted at her in response, continuing to fill the smithy with the sounds of hammer hitting anvil. She wanted to stay and leer but thought better of herself and left to get her own things in order.

Trumpets and the rhythmic stamping of thousands of feet and hooves signaled the arrival of the company early the next day. Elyse and Sandor had worked together to raise the large inner portcullis some time prior to the physical arrival of the host, wedging it in place. Beyond that, Sandor left her to her own devices while he finished preparing to leave. She had gone to the gatehouse at Griffin's Throat to raise the gate there herself, returning with a flood of bodies.

Sandor had not expected to be summoned into the great hall, but there he was standing with Elyse, Edgur and two higher ranking commanders he did not know the names of. Elyse had left the map of Westeros on the table for their perusal, but they had yet to look at it and were listening to her recollection of the events leading to the taking of the keep. "It was not prudent to kill everyone here, any number of them could have had information about where their liege lord is off fighting. Troop numbers, movements..." One of the commanders, Jon Connington, muttered his displeasure. "But that no longer matters. You succeeded against considerable odds and I will not hold this discretion against you, Elyse." She nodded "Thank you, Commander."

The collective gazes of everyone in the room landed on Sandor then. Edgur spoke up, his high voice agitating Sandor immediately. "You played your part in the success of the mission, and proved that your old wounds are of no consequence. Consider me pleased." Jon and the other unnamed commander nodded their agreement. "With that concluded, I believe The Bloody Ravens are ready for the next order of business." He gestured to the map before them, prodding at Griffin's Roost and then across the mountains to Bitterbridge, garnering a few confused looks. "It would be prudent to secure Bitterbridge as a safe hub along the Roseroad for future endeavors." Before he could continue however, Sandor sputtered "That's a fools notion."

A thick silence fell over the group as all eyes were once again on Sandor, Edgurs eyes flashing dangerously as he murmured "Oh? I had not thought to ask you for your insight, you being a commander of men and all." Unperturbed, Sandor scoffed. "Don't need to be a leader of men to see you're a fool. The Golden Company has no need of the Roseroad for many months, if at all. Highgarden may very well opt to follow the Dragon Queen without bloodshed if the Company takes Storm's End and King's Landing without trouble." Mashing his finger into the Kingswood and outlining the Wendwater like he and Elyse had gone over before, he plowed on despite the rise of color on Edgur's face and the palpable silence of the other commanders watching.

"You will send the Bloody Ravens to secure the Wendwater in the Kingswood to stop any build up of raiding forces Kings Landing may attempt to ready while Storm's End is besieged. This is the only logical choice you have, Commander." Both Sandor and Elyse kept their pleasure to themselves as Edgur's face and neck lit up tomato red, his voice ragged "I'll see you whipped into a bloody pile you insubordinate piece of sh-" Jon Connington raised his hand sharply, cutting off Edgur as surely as any verbal command. "I agree with The Hound." Elyse couldn't help but quirk a brow, having not known that the high commanders knew his true identity. "Commander?" Edgur quailed. "You heard me. The Bloody Ravens will secure the river in the Kingswood while the host deals with Storm's End. You will leave in two days time with your whole force. Be sure to make good use of The Hound, he knows this land better than most." Connington smirked, effectively ending the discussion. One by one they all announced their leave and went about their individual business.

Elyse sought Sandor out that night. He had retired to his small tent among the masses, the keep itself was fit to burst and he did not fancy sleeping in a hall. She had crept into the small space with him and laid beside him, letting out a soft "Shh." as she felt the movement of his hand and heard the familiar sound of a fist grasping steel. Recognizing her voice and her familiar smaller size, he stilled and listened, keeping silent. She had moved to be up against his back, mouth beside his ear as she whispered in a fierce tone. "That was a bold move, you've both put yourself open to harm and gotten a measure of security by exposing yourself to the higher command. But they won't be out there in the Kingswood, just Edgur and his men. If you want to survive this, you're going to need my help." she thumped his back slightly as he stiffened, about to argue. "Shut up. I don't know what motivates you, maybe it's the girl or whatever, something else entirely, it makes no matter. You living benefits me, and I want to survive no less than you. I'll watch your back and you watch mine, you hear?"

It was a reasonable offer, and she really was the only one with the stones to even come near him, let alone converse for extended periods. For a time they laid there listening to the sounds of men and animal alike breathing deep in sleep all around them, until she felt the slow nod of assent from him. He could hear the wet sound of her cheek as she grinned, something he had noticed as of late, and crept out of the tent without a further word.

She had been keeping an eye on the maester's tower. There was a reason why she had not killed all the ravens but the one she used to send word of their success, and tonight—the night before The Bloody Ravens left the keep and moved ahead of the host—would be the night her plan bore fruit. From the rampart she stood on, ignored by the patrols as they made their rounds, she saw the familiar shape of Meric, or was it Moat? It was hard to tell between the two brutes at the best of times. He crept out of the kitchens and made for the tower with a hurried pace.

Lips curled into a pursed smirk, she dashed across the ramparts silently and with a swift leap ran across the roof of the Blacksmith's building where a small jump from the edge had her climbing up the maester's tower like a spider. Both speed and silence were of the essence then, she had to beat him to the top, and she nearly fell several times as she climbed around and up until she was hanging silently beneath the raven window. Ears straining to hear, she heard the closing of the door, heavy steps across the floor and the rustling of ravens as a cage was opened and one was grabbed.

It was too much to hope that the dothraki brother would say something incriminating before letting the raven go, but the fact that he sent one flying over her head in the dead of night was enough. Something greater was at play and she dearly wished she could have caught or shot down the raven before it escaped, but there was no way to shoot it at night and nowhere for it to fall but down into the bay. The familiar burn of worry coursed through her insides, it kept her alive so many times back in Essos, and she felt it was going to be a constant companion in the weeks to come.

There were several times in the next few days of their stay at the castle that Elyse had determined the dothraki twins were looking for herself or Sandor, and she had managed to steer him away from them with some effort each time. Whether Sandor knew what she was really doing remained to be seen, he had a knack for keeping his emotions and thoughts close to his chest when he felt there may be someone around.

On the day of the Bloody Ravens departure, Sandor felt a sense of fulfillment course through him when he was sitting atop Stranger once again, departed too long from the ill-tempered horse. There were twenty other horse riders in the company of one hundred, the rest was a mix of bowmen and foot soldiers. He caught a glimpse of Elyse among those on foot, the dark shape that larger men parted around like a stone in a river, unconsciously giving her more space. He also kept Edgur and the dothraki twins within his eyesight, they all rode horses of their own.

There was over 300 miles between Griffin's Roost and the Wendwater, the sea to the east and the mountains to their west as their company plodded on. Being naturally efficient as he was, the methodical setting up of camp in the evenings and tearing it down in the mornings followed by the day of riding was a familiar soothing routine for Sandor. He had determined Elyse was purposefully keeping distance between herself and him, taking care to not be seen together, to avoid raising the ire of Edgur. But more often than not he felt her eyes on him as they traveled and at rest.

She had focused on picking up the smaller details of his manner during the trip, both to familiarize herself with him to better predict his reactions, but also to dampen the boredom of the march and distract from the itching sensation of healing wounds. He would unconsciously move his hair to cover the burned side of his face, and when he was staring off into the horizon his face would twist in anger at whatever he was thinking about, fingering the hilt of his sword fondly. Sometimes their eyes would meet and she'd glance away quickly, wanting to make sure nobody else saw these interactions, but also knowing that he probably felt some kind of superiority when she looked away first.

It was in the foothills of the Red Mountains, just to the east of the Kingswood and south of Bronzegate, when Edgur chose to make his move. Sandor saw him coming, felt his gaze locked on to him as he sat sharpening his sword, and knew something was about to happen. "Gravedigger." He sneered, flanked by the dothraki twins who were glaring silently. "Commander." Sandor rasped back, keeping his voice void of emotion. "You are going to be a part of a scouting party. Meric, Moat and yourself will range ahead of the host and alert us of any movement that may be ahead from Bronzegate or otherwise, between here and the Kingswood." That was it then. He looked over Meric and Moat appraisingly, the dothraki twins were young and well versed with their traditional weapons, he knew that he would be finding out how well versed soon enough. "Aye, commander. I am ready to leave whenever." He replied nonchalantly, giving the hilt of his sword a good squeeze. "Now. I want you well ahead of us by the time we begin moving on the morn."

Unbeknownst to the four of them, Elyse was sitting behind a rocky outcropping within earshot and scowling ghoulishly. What can I do? She thought angrily. Those two scumbag dothraki were going to wait until Sandor's guard was down and then cut him to pieces. Then it would just be an unfortunate accident to report when they came back, or they could say he tried to betray and run or some other horse shit. They had plenty of time to make up something convincing before the other commanders ever heard of it happening, if they did at all. Her fists clenched and unclenched furiously as she went through possible scenarios of his unfortunate demise, then paused and frowned at herself. Sandor was no fool, he surely knew what awaited him out there in the rocky fields when he was out of sight with those dothraki.

Pursing her lips, she rose from her hiding place some time after Edgur and his toadies left, swooping past Sandor without a second thought. To his credit, he did not stir or say anything to her and remained focused on packing his belongings. She stole away to her own belongings and quickly donned her black hooded cloak, maneuvering through the tents of her brothers and some nickering horses grouped together against the chill air. The dothraki did not carry their whips on them unless they were riding or knew they were going to be using them. With that knowledge she stole away into their tent after watching them leave to tend to their horses. Her heart was in her throat as she feverishly sliced a thin strip from each whip, smoothing it off as best she could so as not to draw their eyes immediately.

The sound of their approach raised her blood to hammering in her ears, almost drowning their footsteps out as she hurriedly coiled the last whip and placed it to its original position to the best of her considerable ability. All but flying out the back of the tent and off towards her own, she mournfully hoped that Sandor would be prepared for the confrontation looming in his future.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dothraki make their move.

Sandor was acutely aware of how the dothraki twins flanked him and kept just within range to use their whips, he was no fool. They had left that very night, carefully making their way across the rocky terrain on foot, it would do no good to lame a horse—the dothraki were similar to Sandor in that they loved their bloody horses.

Rocks, muddy soil and rolling hills were all that greeted them when the sun finally rose enough for them to mount and begin riding; but framing the hills was the Kingswood, sprawling off as far as the eye could see like a looming wall of green. Meric and Moat occasionally barked to one another in their own tongue, leaving Sandor scowling heavier than usual. They could be casually discussing how to kill him while he slept for all he knew. Eventually, the riders sidled up on either side of him, keeping to that maximum whipping range, both looking at him pointedly.

Beads of sweat streamed across his forehead and down the gnarled flesh of his face, the cool wind of the sea no longer reaching them as the heat of high noon sank into his dark armor. "You could have made a fine dothraki, with a horse and a face like that." One of the men remarked, he didn't know which one it was. Gritting his teeth, Sandor chuckled and glanced at him. "Aye. I hear the dothraki fuck their women from behind. I'm sure I'd fit in well, dog that I am." Both of them chuckled in response before falling silent and back into their original positions behind him.

It was not so long after their small interaction that Sandor thought he caught sight of something in the distance, the briefest of flashes, at an outcropping of huge boulders. These large groupings of towering rocks weren't an unfamiliar sight in the foothills of the mountains, and it could easily have been one of the large mountain cats native to the area hiding up there, but he kept his sights on it all the same.

In the hours that followed he made the conscious decision to make towards that particular rocky outcropping, gesturing towards it casually as he called out to his would-be slayers. "We'll camp there for the night, get a good view of what is ahead from on top too, I wager." His raspy voice was met with twin grunts of ascent. By his estimate, they would arrive at their destination by nightfall, and then the real battle would begin. There were two of them and one of him, they could alternate watch and get some sleep while he wouldn't dare close his eyes. He still wasn't entirely sure what to do by the time the small mountain of boulders loomed over them, but he was sure that only one man was going to be leaving this place alive, and that was him.

The trio was shrouded in the shadow of one dominant boulder, covered in moss and jutting into the sky defiantly as it blotted out the setting sun. They had slowed down to a gentle trot, tension spreading between them so thick Sandor thought he could taste it, causing his blood to rise in anticipation. They were circling through the place cautiously to make sure nothing was amiss, Sandor paying especially close attention, knowing that he was the only one to have seen that flash earlier—else why would the twins not call him out on heading towards it?

It was as they trotted over an open area devoid of major obstructions and surrounded by jutting rocks that the twins finally struck. Sandor had only a second to register the smooth uncoiling of whips before the first sharp snap. His sword was in his hand as one long whip curled around his neck like a vice, cutting off his snarl as he made a swing for it that was cut off by the second whip snapping around his wrist and cutting his swing short. Stranger screamed, snapping his teeth and stomping his feet but remaining still as his rider struggled. Meric called out, voice vicious and triumphant "Just a worthless walker! Edgur sends his rega-" the blathering idiot was cut short by a long arrow shaft protruding from his chest while at the same time the whip around his neck was snapped by a sharp jerk of Sandors free arm.

Sandor was surprised about the whip breaking and did not see the incredulous look on Meric's face as he tumbled from his horse. But he did see the fury of Moat, who saw his brother fall, and heard his anguished scream as his own whip broke apart in Sandor's fists. Moat drew his arahk, murder in his eyes, as they squared off and charged one another; Moat heedless of the third-party attacker and Sandor as of yet unaware.

Letting out a sharp bark of laughter, grin stretching and twisting his features to be especially hideous, Sandor almost cleaved the pathetic horse lord on the first pass. "You're about to learn just how shitty that weapon is in Westeros, horse fucker!" It was true. With his already long reach on top of the range of his two-handed sword, Moat couldn't even get within reach of Sandor to make use of the wicked weapon. Stranger was also doing work on the dothraki's horse, cleaving into the other beasts flesh with hooves and teeth mercilessly. With Stranger keeping the smaller horse locked in combat, Sandor swung freely—almost lazily—at Moat, who had to spend all his efforts on deflecting the punishing blows.

The whips that had held his neck and sword arm fast were unraveling like banners from Sandor while the failing light cast his features into darkness, all but the whites of his eyes and his grinning teeth were showing as Stranger broke the leg of the woefully weaker horse beneath Moat. The poor beast screamed in horror and went crashing down, Moat barely pulling his feet from the stirrups in time to fall freely without being crushed beneath it. Sandor, sensing the end of the confrontation, leaped from Stranger and stormed around the flailing horse on the ground to close in on Moat as he stumbled to his feet. Chasing after the smaller man like a living shadow, Sandor was pleasantly surprised when Moat got to his feet in time to deflect his broad cleave with the shriek of steel on steel.

Sweat was dripping from both of them now as they circled one another while Stranger stomped the screaming horse on the ground to death, a tribute to the viciousness of his owner. Moat heaved for breaths as he drove into Sandors space, slashing wildly at his mail and leather to little effect. What hits that did land either glanced uselessly or threatened to catch in the armor and disarm him. As he weathered Moat's attacks, it became clear Sandor was toying with his meal. The whites of Moat's dark eyes were showing his growing fear and he was all but frothing at the mouth from his exertion.

Sandor used the huge amount of extra range he had with his weapon to his advantage and began to leisurely cut into Moat, eager to burn off some pent-up fury on him. It vaguely registered in his mind that Meric, or whichever the fuck was the name of the other one, had been absent from the fray since the start. Without the power left in his limbs to deflect Sandor's quick stabs to the side, the arahk Moat wielded proved useless in his defense, and he was soon staggering and bleeding heavily through multiple wounds across his person. With the sun fully gone, the blood that was slowly covering Moat steamed in the cool air, giving him the illusion of burning.

Finally having enough, a quick lunge and jerking motion with the pommel of his sword all but brained his opponent, who finally fell to the ground in a bloody steaming heap that no longer moved. Drawing his sword up he quickly stabbed it through Moat's chest, yanking it out leisurely and wiping it on the man's cloak with a sneer as he looked around. Did the other horse fucker run?

The moon was obscured by clouds and left Sandor squinting in the dark, but he made out the shape of the other man on the ground easily enough, even saw the long shaft protruding from his unmoving chest. He felt a finger of fear trail down his spine then, slowly looking up at the rocks surrounding himself and Stranger, the other horse had run off when it's rider was unseated. Archers. Cowards. He thought with disdain as he crept up to Strangers side, mounting easily as he scanned the area fruitlessly. To have his life snuffed by a coward hiding atop a rock was not how Sandor wished to die, and so it was with some trepidation he finally spotted the shadow of the third-party crouched atop a boulder, well out of reach.

A polite clapping rang out through the empty area, to which Sandor bared his teeth. He knew he looked fearsome, what with steam rising off him as his sweat mixed with the cool air; him and Stranger melding into one huge shadow. But all the posturing and threatening in the world wouldn't save him if this one asshole decided to feather him. "Bra-vo! A fine show." The man's voice was crisp and clear, good for calling out across distances like any good scout. "Who do you serve, and what was it that I just witnessed?"

"With the Golden Company. My owners did not like me very much." Sandor rasped warily, it was a gamble to let this person know he was with the invading force, but his companions did try to kill him; perhaps he could convince this man that he was more useful alive, that would be his mistake if he did. He could hear the gentle tapping of wood on wood as the archer knocked an arrow, tsking loudly "Golden Company, eh? You were foolish to come here. This is the land of House Buckler, sworn to the true king! There will be no kneeling to foreign dragon bitches, or their golden sellswords, here." The hair on the back of Sandor's neck prickled as he heard the familiar thunder of multiple hooves, whatever force the scout belonged to was arriving. Gripping Stranger's reigns tightly, he made his choice.

Spinning around on Stranger with an incoherent yell, he set off at a dangerous pace and willed the great destrier to not lame himself as he raced back towards the Bloody Ravens; if he took stock in the gods, this is where he would pray. If the gods did exist though, they would surely be having a good laugh at him like always. The archer had cried out in anger as his prey fled, knocking and letting his arrow give chase. A moment later Sandor lurched forwards as fire erupted in his right shoulder, almost unseating him. "Seven Hells!" He swore loudly, looking at the arrow that pressed out of the front of his armor, coated in his blood and looking black in the night. There were shouts in the distance behind him and the thundering of hooves never left his hearing. He hoped with all his might that the other riders would kill their horses in their rush to gain on him, all while blocking out the pain that shot through him with every tug and jerk of the mount beneath him; the idea of not sleeping another full day while being injured was also grim, he thought.

Elyse spent her time schooling her features to be impassive as she marched with her so-called brothers. You'll always be the black sheep, even when your family is this fucked up. She thought bitterly. She chose to not dwell on it though, this place was as good as any and the Golden Company always had a task to hone her craft with or people to sharpen her claws on. Her normally impenetrable feet were chilled and stiff that morning, a testament to the arrival of winter in Westeros. With trepidation she had wrapped her feet in leather strips then, admitting that her old home won this battle.

The sun was dipping towards the edge of the horizon, ready to kiss the earth and leave their part of the world in darkness once again, when a ripple of unease stirred through the ranks from the front where the men on horse lead. Elyse caught on that something was happening, but her stature forced her to rely on hearing what was going on from others in front of her. It soon became clear that a rider was approaching and a general halt was called. She seized the opportunity to glide past the sweaty bodies of her brethren and make her way to the front to see with her own eyes what was going on.

Sandor and his black destrier were recognizable at a distance, but he was clearly hunched over in a heap. Clenching her jaw in trepidation, she watched as a rider went forward to guide Sandor and Stranger, the poor beast was covered in sweat and nearly broken; it also became painfully clear that an arrow was jutting out of his shoulder when he was brought closer.

Jerking awake suddenly, he had fallen asleep several times from exhaustion, Sandor straightened and bellowed out to the crowd "Summon Edgur and get your shit together! A force is coming any time!" Many wary eyes looked towards the horizon that Sandor had come out of then, not yet seeing anything but concerned all the same. It wasn't long before Edgur was there, clearly furious, and berating Sandor as the arrow was broken and then yanked out of his back, forcing a snarl from him.

"Where are Meric and Moat?! You killed them, you traitor!" Elyse edged as close as she could, not wanting to completely pass through the press of bodies around them. She observed that both the destrier and Sandor were covered in blood, and Sandor actually had a loose chunk of whip dangling off his neck. Her lip twitched into a brief smile, well at least that worked, she thought. The sound of both men arguing drew her back to the present, however. "You sent them to kill me, but they got killed by archers anyways, you bloody moron!" Edgur was red-faced and furious as he squared off with Sandor. "You need to form ranks and prepare for an assault, not fucking pester me about your failed schemes!" He was shaking with fury, or exhaustion, maybe both.

Edgur though, he wouldn't see reason, and spittle was flying from his lips as he gestured wildly at Sandor. "I'll see you flayed! You are a worthless turncoat!" Nobody seemed interested in moving to apprehend Sandor, mind you. Incredulous, Sandor looked away from Edgur and at the faces of all the men staring at him, as if expectant. Blinking in surprise, his eyes burning from tiredness, he recognized this opportunity.

"If you want to live, form ranks!" He bellowed with all his might, he wasn't even sure where he was drawing his energy from at this point. "Archers, form up on the rocks! Mounted men, with me! Those of you on foot, follow Elyse!" She visibly blanched in surprise, but caught on quick enough. Edgur had fallen silent, dumbstruck by his own fury. But there was the distant thunder of hooves, and men had begun shouting about seeing riders approaching in the distance. That was all the encouragement the men needed, horse riders coalesced on Sandor and all able men with bows ran to the rocky outcropping nearby. Elyse steeled herself as Sandor guided the mounted group, twenty or so men, to line up well behind the range of their own archers. "Men, to me!" It was thrilling watching the eyes of the other foot soldiers locking on her, and watching them fall into step as she lead them up behind the rocks the archers were perching on, ready to flank whoever came after the horse riders or to protect the archers if they had to fall back.

Elyse watched the 20 horsemen form up into a mass. It was always something to watch large groups of men collide in battle, she'd never tire of it or the thrill of battle in general. All around her footmen were shifting nervously, the thunder of the approaching enemies filling the air ever louder at their approach. Taking that as her queue, Elyse crept up a rock face beside a solid-looking man with a long bow and took stock of the enemy they faced.

All were on horse, and there was a smattering of men wielding short bows instead of steel, they would need to be dealt with before they came in to range of their own cavalry, but the Bloody Ravens wielded long bows—the short bows would never come into play if they did their job right. They were mercenaries of the Golden Company, there is no question whether they could do their job right or not.

"Archers, knock and draw." Her voice was little more than a murmur, but it passed through the ranks quickly and she was comforted by the familiar sound of bows being drawn taut. "Hold steady." The forces of Bronzegate- or was it Felwood?- were a good 60 horses, she wagered. They would see the small group of twenty Golden Company cavalry and not think twice about fighting them, especially with the mounted bowmen on their side. Eagerly, she watched the wall of horses approaching their own smaller mass, her blood rising by the second as she waited for them to reach the sweet spot.

Reaching back to grip the pommel of her two-handed sword, eyes widening madly as she took a huge breath and bellowed out "FIRE! ENGAGE!" The sudden roar of 80 men bellowing and the swish of arrows flying in unison mixed with and overwhelmed the thundering of hooves. A great clamor or armor clanking and creaking followed as she leaped off the rocks and joined the 30 roaring infantrymen in their charge, the first wave of arrows landing into the enemy forces and raising a great wave of confusion. In the distance she saw the looming silhouette of Sandor atop his destrier, sword unsheathed and pointing at the enemy before he lead the charge. Vaguely she noted Edgur was near him, at least he had the brains to join in.

The screams of men, horses and clashing steel filled her ears as Elyse finally arrived with the men on foot, clashing into the already nearly broken forces of Bronzegate from the side. The twenty horsemen were already engaged fully and were cutting through their enemies with zeal. She deftly stepped on the foot of a seated enemy who thought to run her down and leaped into a stand in front of him on his saddle, planting her sword into his chest as he gaped up at her in surprise and his horse danced in terror, her toes gripping the saddle.

Calling attention to herself with a gleeful roar of her own, she kicked the corpse off and balanced on the horse as it danced in place fearfully. Just like fighting on those old broken rooftops of Braavos, she thought happily while leaping over incoming maces and swords and getting free easy strikes at the vulnerable necks of her foes from her height vantage. Kicking a twitching corpse off of her sword, the blade having gotten stuck in the knights face after she planted it there, she envied the advantages of tall people when she had these kind of height advantage positions—they happened too rarely, in her opinion.

Through the haze she caught glimpses of Sandor and other men she recognized for their own unique appearances, he was one of the more impressive fighting men though, she had to admit. But he was flagging from his injury and Stranger was all but staggering too. Free from combat in that moment, she sheathed her greatsword, blood spraying up from around the blade in a gout as it slammed in place, and crouched down to grab the reins of her new-found mount and charged towards him.

An arrow whistled past Sandor's head and left him cursing as he swung his sword in a great cleave that left the torso of a man falling to the ground. He was hunting down the bowmen with a vengeance and felt a surge of power each time they stared at him like he was the Stranger come to take them, he might as well have been. His shoulder was searing and his eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, but the thrill of battle dulled everything adequately. The only attention he gave to the men on his own side was enough courtesy to not accidentally cut them down. Their companies forces were pressing forwards and cutting a swathe through the Bronzegate men, who were now attempting a full retreat with horses near broken from their rush to chase him, it was not going well for them. However, the strength of his arm was failing and he had found himself caught in a desperate battle with another particularly large man. He had a great red beard and was flagging just as bad as Sandor, all he had to do was outlast him and then reap his miserable life, just like the rest.

Vaguely the sound of a hard ridden horse registered on his left, but it was coming from the direction of his own men behind him so he paid it no mind. He had trouble registering what happened when he felt a quick jolt to his saddle and a blur leaped across it, crashing into his opponent and unhorsing him as his jugular was ripped open and erupted in a bright fountain of lifeblood. It was her, and she didn't glance back as she gave chase to the enemy with daggers drawn and braided hair lashing around wildly, leaving him sitting on Stranger with two confused horses meandering around him. The battle was won and it was all he could do to slide his sword back into its sheath before he leaned forwards and closed his eyes to rest.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bloody Ravens move into the Kingswood while Sandor and Elyse play twenty questions.

The stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils as he inhaled burning ash that seared down his throat and into his lungs; all while a massive hand kept his face firmly planted into the brazier that was ravaging his face, the owner completely uncaring for his screams of pure agony and horror. Gregor. It was an all too familiar dream that had visited him with a frightening frequency throughout his childhood and into his adult life, not even the Quiet Isle could soothe that particular night terror away. The smells, sounds and feeling of his nightmare slowly peeled away into the groggy fog of awakening; his eyes cracking open with some difficulty, glued shut by sleep as they were. Awake, found himself peering into the gray eyes of Elyse, who was leaning over him in what he then assumed to be a healers tent.

Her lips curled into a maddening grin and he tried to reach up and throw her away, but all he managed was to raise his hand and bump her shoulder with it, growling in frustration. "Ah, ah, ah." she chided teasingly. "Can't get rid of me so easily now, can you? Weak as any kitten I've ever seen." She remarked, lips peeling into an overly huge grin with the exposed teeth and gums shiny with saliva. "One might even say you're at my mercy, bet you're not used to that!" He was glaring as his hand dropped back to his side, aware of his shoulder being firmly wrapped up in bandages. Bouncing back into a stand, she peered down at him intently as he grumbled "How long have I been here? What of my damn horse?"

Quirking a brow at his questions, she chuckled and shook her head. "Would figure the only thing that is close to your heart is a damn horse, Stranger is fine. This is only your second day here, healer said it was just pure fatigue and overtaxing yourself with that shoulder injury. We're at rest and still scavenging all the corpses and horses roaming around, anyway. Tomorrow we will be moving and you will be riding." It was a statement, get better by tomorrow or go fuck yourself. Sandor snorted. There was another flicker of movement and she leaned over him again, making his ire rise. "Get off me, woman." Ignoring his complaining she seized his right hand and yanked it up in front of his face, frowning at him seriously before slapping the old ribbon he kept into his hand and forcing his thick fingers shut around it. Her voice lowering into a murmur "Wouldn't do to have that thrown away when the healer took off your armor, now would it?" His jaw clenched as she straightened up again, feeling a tightness in his chest at this odd misplaced kindness.

"You owe me, by the way. Edgur was keen on simply executing you while you slept. I challenged the decision and put my ass on the line for you, once again. He can't just up and kill me, being the only damn woman in an army, it would get around if I disappeared and then questions about him would be raised you see?" She licked her lips briefly, thinking. When she lowered her eyes from the tent's fabric wall back down to him, he was asleep again. Oh well. Truly, it had been a dangerous gamble to face off against Edgur, but it had worked out for the time being. The confrontation had allowed her to see the eyes of the men around them, and how there was no respect left for their so-called leader. She wondered if they would have even complied if he ordered her struck down or imprisoned, best not dwell on it. There were bodies to loot and some last stubborn horses to round-up still; and with this new light shining on her since the battle, she would be missed.

He was still tired, even after all that sleep, but when morning came he found himself astride Stranger and trudging towards the Kingswood once again. Edgur must have sent some fresh scouts ahead this time, he was surprised that he didn't send him ahead again anyways, but it seemed reason may have prevailed. Many of the horses the enemy rode upon had been re-purposed and given to the more competent riders that were among the infantry; so it was a surprise to find Elyse perched demurely atop a brown and white speckled palfrey with a sure step, considering she confessed to be a poor rider previously. Guiding Stranger over to her was a simple matter, everyone made way unconsciously as he sidled up to her left and returned her light gray gaze. "You said you were a shit rider." he rasped, cutting to the chase like always.

"Aye." The left side of her face twisted as she grinned, the only hint of it being the tug of her still in-tact lip. Before she could continue however, a nearby rider barked out a laugh and intervened. "What she means by 'shit rider' is she can't ride one at a full gallop while standing on the saddle and swinging her sword at the same time. I saw you fighting out there, makes me re-think how I look at women." the man admitted, keeping a good-natured tone. Sandor watched their exchange, a brow quirked. "Ahh, Bernard! You Astaporian whoreson, good to see you survived. Maybe you should, but lets face it, most women are just sad little brood mares anyway." Elyse and Bernard exchanged chuckles before she continued, "Can't just brute force your way through everything when you're smaller, got to make the most of it. Just a different kind of fighting, lucky me that no man knows what the hell kind of fighting it is, I figure." Sandor quietly nodded in agreement with the two, companionable silence falling over them as Bernard trotted on ahead.

"Not that I wouldn't mind being able to just slice everyone I touched in half, mind you." Elyse remarked thoughtfully, looking at Sandor with a smirk that he returned. "You do that better than most, I think, I will look forward to seeing you on the battlefield when you are in top shape. That should be something worth keeping an eye on." Stretching his shoulders with a pained grunt, Sandor looked her over then. She wasn't any worse for the wear after the battle herself, fairly spry looking even. "Could be entertaining to watch your mummers farce of a fighting style as well, if you leaping over my saddle and nearly getting cleaved by me was anything to go by." He wasn't going to outright compliment her, not a chance. Wincing dramatically, she took it for what it was at least. "You wound me. I saw you flagging, old man." A snort was all she received in response.

Pursing her lips and staring off into the Kingswood that crept ever closer, Elyse gave her palfrey a thoughtful pat. "Kings Landing is already moving against the Golden Company. Sixty men to guard the pass between Felwood and Bronzegate, you don't just have that many men stationed in the middle of nowhere for no reason. There will be more waiting in the Kingswood, and I'll be surprised if the Wendwater isn't secured already. Mark my words." Snorting derisively, Sandor gave a half-shrug with his uninjured shoulder. "Killed more men than I can count already, what is some more?"

Unslinging her bow and snorting derisively as she checked it over, Elyse didn't spare him a look. "We will see. Best hope your shoulder heals quickly, I don't doubt we're stuck together from now on and I do get sent to scout more often than not, among other things." She trailed off, looking ahead grimly. "Had worse." Was all he had to say, the rest of the days ride carried out in companionable silence

Elyse was right, of course. There was a skirmish the very first day they entered the thick canopy of the Kingswood, just a small scouting force that was caught unaware by their own scouts. Sandor stood beside Stranger and surveyed the corpses pinned to both the ground, trees, and each other by arrows belonging to the formidable longbows of Essos. "Archers." He muttered with contempt, turning a corpse over with his boot to look at the unfamiliar gaunt face of a boy who hadn't even grown facial hair yet. "Green boys must be all that's left of the King's army by now, whole damn continent is going to starve when this winter sets in." he gave Stranger a pat, talking to him in his low raspy voice.

"You'll be thankful of my mediocre bow skills in these woods, Digger." Elyse called to him as she stripped a corpse with practiced ease. "Not much room to maneuver a horse in this dark place, let alone swing your sword. Mind you, I will always take up the melee if I have a choice between that and the bow, nothing quite like getting in a mans face as you kill him." She made that distinct slurping sound he had long come to recognize as sucking saliva back into her mouth, before grinning at him wickedly. It was one of many small observations he had made during their time together now. The other night he noticed she had difficulty chewing the hard strip of meat ration she was given, having to chew only with her whole side, and slowly at that; and in the morning he saw her rising from her bedroll with a distinctly pained look before leaning over and pressing a hand up to her exposed teeth and gums, no doubt the cold was starting to cause a pain she wouldn't be familiar with if she only knew the heat of Essos. Her disposition worsened as she continued to sleep without a tent and the cold rain began, a cruel endless drizzle that felt like ice.

Their force had split up into groups the next day and fanned out through the forest to be less obvious and get the layout faster; scout teams spreading ahead through the dark like seeking fingers. Sandor was paired with the dour Elyse, like she had figured they would be, scouting ahead of their own group. Stranger was once again left behind and they both traveled light and silent as necessity dictated. That night they sat under a huge redwood tree, hidden by its massive roots and for the most part sheltered from the rain. Elyse had stuffed a piece of meat into her mouth and was sucking on it silently, glaring out into the night from atop her sodden bedroll. Sandor stared off into the dark on his own for a time before looking back at her. They were sitting close, bedrolls placed directly beside one another so that they might draw some heat from one another, practical as they both were. Staring down at her dark mess of hair and the small amount of exposed neck, Sandor felt a pang for his little bird and wondered where she was; at least this girl was nothing like her, that would be painful.

"Why do you not have a tent when you are with the company, you've been there for years have you not?" He asked, tilting his head slightly and keeping his voice a bit lower than usual, just in case. She did not answer for some time, before finally rubbing her hands together vigorously and then sitting on them. "Never been allowed one. All fine and dandy in fucking Essos, but I will have to put up a fight about it soon I wager. Don't fancy freezing my bloody teats off, even if they are useless. So what, you think it's time to pry do you? Don't think I haven't forgotten the question I asked you that night, Digger." She sneered, tilting her head to look at him; the good side of her face actually looking gentle in the shadows, but he knew better. He scowled, looking away from her and into the darkness, knowing full well that his twisted flesh looked all the more hellish when shadows were cast over it. "Ask about something other than my face and I may humor you, wench."

"Who does the ribbon belong to?" He huffed in response, of course she would ask about that. But it didn't matter anymore, did it? She was gone, presumed just as dead as he was. His hand rose to his chest, touching the spot over his heart where he knew the ribbon rested, sentimental fool he was. "Sansa Stark." a pause "A Stark, truly? I may not have lived here since I was a whelp, but even someone like me knows the great houses. That must be an interesting tale, indeed." he didn't miss her leaning towards him slightly, eager and curious. She really looked more like a child then, with eyes shining in the night. Letting out a rumbling sigh before his eyes sharpened, looking down at her while his lip twitched. "I answered, my turn." She bobbed her head slightly, accepting as much.

"Where in Essos did you grow up, and how did you manage to not become a whore or a slave?" This was a question that he thought about often, and he leaned towards her slightly himself, curious. "That is a pretty broad question, two questions even. I will answer the first." she smirked, playing his own game. "I landed in Pentos, slavery is outlawed there. The Magisters tend to ignore that rule, but men want pretty women slaves, not maimed rats." chuckling softly, she rested her head against the tree and peered upwards "I did not stay in Pentos, and ended up traveling to most of the free cities at one point or another. I left Essos, sailing to Westeros with the Golden Company from some few miles south of Volon Therys." Pulling her hands from under herself, she pressed one firmly against her opened cheek, brows pressing down into a scowl as he remained silent. "My turn. How did you get this ribbon from Sansa Stark?" He snorted, not surprised that she would push that question farther.

"I took it from her during the Battle of the Blackwater. Pulled it from her pretty hair myself and then left her, she didn't give it to me." His voice had lowered into a grumbling rasp, and if she thought she heard the remorse in his tone, she kept it to herself. Clenching his fists and looking down at her with a scowl, he snapped "My turn. How did you, a woman, learn how to fight? There are but a small handful of fighting women in Westeros, and your circumstances are very, very different from theirs." He kept his opinion about women fighters to himself, knowing her at least capable. She shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest and hiding her hands between them in another feeble attempt to get the chill out. "First time I killed was a raper, didn't feel bad about it. Had never killed anyone in anything other than defense before the golden company. Killed a lot, make no mistake, got good at it too. Practice makes perfect, you know?" her lips tugged into a cruel smile "Got actual training in the golden company, but it's men fighting styles and I had to change things myself. From there it was learning the weapons, the limits of what I could do and making it all second nature." it was full dark now, and with the complete overcast above them all that he could make out was her vague shape nodding at him.

"Enough questions for tonight, we can always continue another night, perhaps." He grunted his agreement, jerking slightly as she roughly tugged her bedroll until it was almost overlapping his. "And I'm bloody tired of freezing, you can share space and thank me for it later, aurochs." scowling as her wet cloak smacked his face and landed on half of his leg, she slipped into her sodden bedroll and all but molded up against his side. "Whatever happened to propriety?" he asked the sky accusingly as he settled down for first watch, completely aware of the irony of him being the one to ask such a question. "Ladies have propriety. I am neither a lady nor a man, I don't play by their rules." She grumbled, tossing an arm over him haphazardly. At least his discomfort made it easier to stay awake and keep watch, he reasoned; and in time her warmth did seep through the relentless cold dampness that pervaded the two of them. She woke with a simple jab of his elbow, grunting and nodding as he gratefully fell to sleep himself. By morning, both of them were coiled together tightly and while their bedrolls and cloaks remained damp, they were warm and had managed to banish some dampness between the two. He untangled himself from her when she woke him and they were shortly off again after eating their damp bread rations.

They were on a direct course to the Wendwater bridge, their own group consisted of 15 archers and themselves; sent to clear the bridge of enemies for the cavalry as they made their way to the roads at a slower pace. It would take a few days for them to get there, but they would be well ahead of the cavalry all the same, Sandor knew the Kingswood well. One evening they followed the scent of wood smoke until they came upon a mossy cabin, watching the quaint trail of smoke rising from its chimney. "Probably a woodsman, quite a few spread through the Kingswood." Sandor remarked, looking down at Elyse, wondering at the hungry look in her eyes before she looked up at him. "I will check it out while you stay out of sight then." furrowing his brows as he frowned "You're just as ugly as me, I might as well do it." shaking her head and tsking at him, she pulled a long strip of cloth out of a pocket and tied it firmly around her face to conceal the wound. "I'm a woman and there is no wound here, don't be stubborn. You can come barging in if you hear or see something off. We can't be the only ones that smelled all that smoke, could be a trap." her gray eyes glittered up at him, the only indication of her mirth now that her mouth was concealed, leaving him nodding grudgingly. "Go on, then."


	10. Chapter 10

Elyse made her way to the cabin carefully, picking her way through the woods and taking care to watch for any movement. It would be hard to discern whether she was a man or a woman at a distance with her sodden hood drawn over her head and the bow and quiver slung over her back, even the rough cloth she had tied around the lower half of her face would hide her feminine features. There was a distinct lack of sound from the woods and from the cabin as she stepped up to it, one hand curling behind her back to clutch at the hilt of her dagger cautiously when she toed the slightly ajar door open and slipped in without delay.

Sandor watched from the treeline as her cloaked figure slipped into the cabin, the hair on his neck rising from the eery silence that had filled the area. Cautiously, he stepped forwards and circled around the home, sword at the ready. He was looking at the untouched mud at the back of the cabin when he heard a piercing crash and a ragged yell that sent him running to the front door. Elyse crashed out, the door slamming loudly behind her as she spun around and quickly shut it. "Seven hells! What is going on?" Sandor snarled as he stepped up to her, his anger punctuated by a sharp stab of worry as she looked up at him with wild eyes. He hadn't seen that kind of fear since the Blackwater.

"Don't go in. We're burning it." Elyse voice was ragged as she reeled away from the door, stumbling around the house to find the dry wood stacked under a small overhang. Sandor stood at the front, worry tugging at his insides enough to make him open the door a crack and look inside. There was the sprawled out corpse of an old woodsman on the rotting wood floor, the smoldering remains of his fire in the hearth in front of him as blood threatened to pool into it. Confused, but wary, Sandor stepped back out and walked around the cabin to find Elyse had already started the entire wood pile on fire and was some feet away on her knees in the grass, her cloak obscuring what she was doing with her arms that would have her shoulders jerking sporadically. "Girl, why are we burning the entire damn cabin for a corpse?" He grumbled, warily stepping around her to see what she was doing, "I'd be surprised if fucking Kings Landing doesn't see this smoke..." his voice trailed off as he saw she was vigorously scrubbing blood from her hands with clumps of wet grass, all while taking shallow panicked breaths.

Jerking sharply as he planted a big hand on her shoulder, as if it brought her mind back to the present, she looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "You didn't touch the body did you? He... He was sick. Came after me, had to kill him. We should be off now, no stopping that fire whether you like it or not." Shakily, she stood up and shouldered away from his hand, wiping her hands against her cloak while striding off into the forest again, not looking back at the rising flames or Sandor. Something was clearly off about her, even if he understood the fear of sickness, this was an excessive overreaction. He determined to figure it out later and stalked off after her while his eyes darted around, watching thick smoke coil through the woods wherever the wind bade it. "Bugger me."

What little wind there was flowing through the forest remained in their favor and they did not have to spend the rest of the evening inhaling the smoke from Elyse's little indiscretion. When they made camp that night she kept her bedroll well away from his own and spent twice as long as usual checking the area and making water before returning. She was curled up under her bedroll that she had placed underneath a large tree root when Sandor made his move. Used to his heavy strides, she did not stir when he stomped near her, but jerked up in surprise when he planted a knee on either side of her waist and pinned her down with his weight while he caught the corners of her bedroll and trapped her arms at her sides beneath it. Taking a sharp breath, she only gave a quick experimental tug to confirm how pinned she was beneath him and the blanket. She glared up at him and he returned it wholeheartedly, the ruined side of his face twitching in irritation. "Girl. What is the matter with you? If I'm fucking stuck scouting with you, you damn well tell me what is going on." He punctuated his sentence by giving her shoulders a firm shake, waiting for her response.

"Are you mad? I was near a sick man, you are not afraid that you could catch something from me?" She looked and sounded incredulous, eyebrows furrowed and lips pinched into a tight line. "If you're so damn keen on being near me then be my guest, but if we both end up gibbering and insane, it's your own damn fault." The corners of her eyes crinkled slightly at her sudden broad grin, her voice lowering deeper than it's usual husky tone "And the next time you crawl on to me, you'd best be finishing what you started." Sandor almost jumped off her when she thrust her hips up sharply, making him acutely aware of their position in a strictly non-tactical way. Gritting his teeth, he pulled away and stalked off to his own bedroll, making no move to bring it over to her. "You take first watch tonight, wench." She chuckled in response, the soft sound leaving his breathing slightly erratic as he focused on getting his blood to cool down. It was going to be a long night.

Sandors heavy steps woke Elyse in the morning, dark eyes snapping open right before he nudged her with his boot. "Up. We'll be on the Kingsroad before noon." grunting in response, she slipped out of her bedroll and went about the morning ritual of packing up camp. When the gloomy gray clouds finally broke apart overhead and warm rays of sunshine touched them comfortingly, Sandor and Elyse were visibly relieved. "Forest may be a muddy hell still, but thank the gods for some sun!" Sandor's voice was markedly pleased. Elyse only gave him a small grunt in response, though. She was keeping away from him like before, but not as much. He felt a small appreciation for it, it did make sense to keep her at arms reach until it was clear she had not caught anything; but then again he'd crawled over her and had his face up close to hers already, odds were if she did catch something, he'd have it too.

Their brooding silence was interrupted near noon, when the sound of conversation drifted to them. "Bloody golden company is filling the forest and they leave us two here to guard the road, Flem? This is madness." Elyse was smirking up at Sandor as they listened, the first voice was high and wavering, but the second was as hard as stone and deep as a well "You'll shut up and hold this fucking spot, Lewin. If your Lord commands you to stand here until you die, you do it. Personally, I don't want to die, so feel free to fight when the time comes." That was the end of their conversation, and both Sandor and Elyse were grinning in humor as they stalked forwards.

Each tossed their sodden hoods back to make sure their faces were well and truly seen, and in unison their greatswords were pulled free of their sheaths. Striding through the trees like twin reapers, they finally came in to view of the patrol and were spotted in that same moment by a tall, jumpy man who was clearly Lewin. "By the gods, F-Flem!" he and Flem drew swords, and it was clear even Flem hesitated as Elyse and Sandor both cleared the treeline and came to stand on the Kingsroad some yards ahead of them. However, the older man, much stockier than his counterpart, called out in a sure tone "Halt! Whatever foul hells you crawled back out of, Hound, you and your demon wench will go no further unless you throw your weapons down and come quietly!" the joint raspy laughter of Sandor and the heckling chuckles of Elyse came shortly after the bold declaration.

"You couldn't even take me if she wasn't here, old fool. Here, boy, I'll let you go if you kill your partner here and have a little chat with us afterwords." Nobody looked more surprised than the old man when Lewin's sword pierced his throat without hesitation. "I ain't dying for him or no Lord who leaves me to die!" Lewin declared, wiping his sword off on his companion's cloak even as he flailed on the ground and drowned in his own blood. "Smart lad." Elyse spoke finally, sheathing her own sword while Sandor kept his out, if only to give the illusion of being appeased by the coward. As if he had only really just noticed Elyse, Lewin visibly blanched when he looked at her face. "Gods.." Elyse made a dismissive gesture, as if telling him to get over it "Go ahead then, you're life for a talk. Tell us what you know." She stood then, just out of his reach, Sandor having stepped up with her.

Lewin's sword wavered uncertainly, but he nodded slightly then, eyeing Sandor when he stepped up beside her. Elyse had to smirk disgustedly, it was so hard to get recognition from any man, even cravens, it seemed. "Serillis has been sending us in patrols of two up and down the Kingsroad on this side of the Wendwater for weeks, the bridge over the river is well fortified and the river shore is patrolled for miles in each direction." Elyse licked her lips while thoughtfully staring at him "Number of men at the bridge?" her eyes narrowing slightly as he blanched, clearly thinking fast. "Couple hundred, m'lady. Lots of archers." He was taking calming breaths, both Sandor and Elyse noticed, trying to keep himself under control. Thin lips curled into a tight smile, Elyse nodded slowly "Very well, thank you for your.. Co-operation. You can go now-" Sandor cut in sharply, foot thumping against the well-worn soil to physically punctuate his words. "No, not yet. I'm not done with you." Catching Lewin's gaze and holding it with his own glare, Sandor's voice had a tinge of disgust in it "What do the smallfolk say? What is the state of the kingdom?"

Lewin was not good at keeping his cards to his chest, it seemed. His expression was surprised and his tone thoughtful as he considered Sandor's words. "Haven't been to Kings Landin' or any town in well over a month, Ser, but last I heard was the disgraced Cercei Lannister fleeing for Casterly Rock with her little golden king Tommen and as many men as she could take, including Ser Robert Strong, unnatural thing he is. All seven kingdoms are starvin', thieves, rapers and bandits are everywhere... Going to be a long winter." He must have seen something in Sandor's expression then, because he trailed off into a silence that hung heavily between all three of them.

Ser Robert Fucking Strong. I don't know what happened to you Gregor, but you're not going to survive death twice. His breathing had deepened, eyes glaring down at Lewin with the fury of a landslide, while his hands tightened into a white knuckled grip around the hilt of his sword. Elyse was about to say something when he growled, voice no more than the snarling of dogs in a pit "Run, coward." Lewin's eyes widened, staring between Sandor and Elyse only for a moment before turning and running up the road at full tilt. Without pause, Elyse stepped a pace ahead of Sandor and fluidly knocked an arrow, letting it fly before Sandor could digest what was going on through his brooding state. She was jerked from her feet by the fist clenching her chest armor, Sandor shaking her violently and snarling "What the fuck are you doing? You promise him safe passage and kill him?"

Unblinking, Elyse quirked a brow at him slightly before talking in a calming tone, resting one hand on the hand that was still clenching her leathers in a death grip "We can't let him go and report us, you know that. Besides, I didn't kill him. He just happened to drown in his own blood." Her lips curled into a tight smile, her arrow having shot through the craven's throat and leaving him to drown in his own blood like he did to his companion. It was true, but he was still seething over the new information of his brother and when he let her down it was a sharp jerking motion, leaving her feet thumping to the ground as she caught herself. The thought of the craven who killed his partner dying in a deserving manner did nothing to curb his desire to kill then, but it felt like justice all the same.

Sensing the situation was back under control once again, Elyse slung her bow and adjusted her chest armor while clearing her throat. "Well, he was lying about how many men there are at the bridge, that much was clear. We could either wait for our group and the horsemen to catch up to us and go there as one or scout it out ourselves before returning. What say you?" Taking calming breaths, Sandor sheathed his sword and stared ahead to where the road curved out of sight. "We will wait. Won't do to get captured and two of us are not going to be retaking the bridge by ourselves unless they really don't have any archers." Elyse nodded in agreement, looking around for a moment before methodically searching the corpse of Flem and dragging it out of sight into the woods, Sandor wordlessly following suit with Lewin's still warm corpse.

They made camp just out of sight of the Kingsroad that night, hiding a small fire behind a hill and thickly growing brush. Both of their cloaks hung from tree branches along with Sandor's damp gloves and Elyse's mud-caked and sodden foot wrappings. The sounds of night life punctuated by the crackling of their small fire did not wake Sandor from his sleep, but the sharp intake of breath from Elyse did. Dark gray eyes opening just a crack, he saw Elyse sitting on her bedroll and facing away from him, hunched over something in her lap that had apparently elicited her sharp gasp. Wary, he took special pains to make sure he was silent when he crawled out of his bedroll to creep up behind her, minding the shadows cast by the fire so it wouldn't alert her. When he finally got near her, he saw her slowly prodding the fingertips of her left hand with one of her knives, and that one of the fingers was nearly all black.

Elyse watched the blood well up at each of her fingertips before staring at the blackened, leather-hard flesh of her index finger. It had crept from her fingertip to the second knuckle at a frightening pace, and she felt dread well up inside her. As a soldier of sorts, she was fully accepting of death in the field of battle, but the idea of being struck down by sickness was a deep-seated fear that she shared with most other men-at-arms. She may have heard Sandor if she wasn't distracted by her self-loathing in that time, but she did not. Curling her left hand into an angry fist, she stood up quietly and moved to re-sheath her knife, Sandor struck then.

Sandor's hand latched onto her wrist like a steel band as she went to sheath the knife. To her credit, even though she took in a sharp gasp of breath in surprise, she tried to leap forwards and away from him. However, he slammed into her back with his weight and they careened forwards onto the ground, leaving her pinned underneath the weight of him and his armor as he fished her left hand out from under her. His breath was hot in her ear as he snarled into it "You stupid bitch, think I wouldn't notice this eventually?" He caught up her left hand by the wrist and shoved it in front of her face, forcing her to stare at her foolishness for herself. Taking a hard-won breath, she growled at him angrily "Not your fucking business, you aurochs!" hissing at him through clenched teeth, she tried to knock him loose frenziedly until he finally pinned her legs down with his, too. Both of them were breathing heavier as he ripped the knife from her right hand, letting her flail the arm uselessly as he crept over her just enough to rest his elbow in front of her face and focus on her hand. Her breathing became frantic as she realized what he was doing, voice a hissing whisper "No! By the gods no!"

Merciless, Sandor clenched her wrist crushingly to keep her arm still, growling as she wiggled her fingers as if to avoid what he was about to do. "Could've only lost a part of the finger if you weren't a stupid wench." He wished he had his gloves on for this, but he decided he owed her enough to get it done as quick as possible. Mashing her hand to the ground until it was flat, he planted the tip of her knife into the first knuckle of the blackened finger and cut through it without preamble. Her frantic gasps for air weren't enough for her to let out a full-bodied scream, thanks to his weight, but she tried to pull his steady hand away with her free hand while whispering in a high voice "No! Stop! No more! Not my hand! Nnooo!" He carved through her knuckle meticulously and made sure it was a clean-cut while her lungs rattled for air. Only when the blackened digit parted from her hand and bright red blood rushed from the fresh stump did he get up, taking her knife with him just in case.

It was a small blessing that she seemed to have sunk into shock, sitting up slowly while staring at her bleeding hand. Sandor grunted angrily and rummaged through her belongings until he found the relatively clean cloth that she used to wrap around her face the other day; he put on his gloves quickly before coming back and wrapping her hand up tightly, holding it firmly in place as she tried to draw it to her chest protectively, he gave her credit that she was at least not crying. Letting her hand go, she thumped it against her chest and hunched over, shoulders trembling violently. Sandor kicked the blackened digit out of the camp, fed the campfire and finally slumped on his bedroll tiredly. He would not sleep, it would be too risky if she came back to her senses and decided she wasn't feeling thankful. He kept her dagger under his bedroll and kept his hand clenched around his own knife that night.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bloody Ravens settle in the Kingswood and prepare for a protracted battle.

A fierce stabbing pain shot through her hand and up her arm all throughout the night. Eventually shocking Elyse back to her senses as she clenched her wrist, until a rage so black and seething enveloped her she found herself trembling from it. Sandor would not be asleep, he was not that stupid, and she would stand no chance killing him in this state. So she let the sweet thoughts of death and delicious, unspeakable violence against his person fill her up from the inside to keep her through the night and stave off the throbbing, stabbing pain of the bloody stump that hid beneath the wrappings on her hand. Exhaustion has a will of its own, however. As the light of dawn sprinkled through the trees, she felt the loss of sleep keenly enough to distract her from her hatred; and with that gentling of her rage came the honest truth: Sandor had done for her what she was too cowardly to do for herself, and probably saved her life as a result. Elyse was too practical to let the anger eat away at her insides, and just like that she felt the bitter caress of forgiveness.

Sandor appeared to be asleep, but Elyse was not going to take any chances on that front. It came as no surprise when Sandor snapped to his feet and wielded the dagger that was clenched in his hand. Probably would've impaled me with it if I had touched him to wake him, she thought. All at once he took in her crouched in front of the fire, chewing on a chunk of bread that they had looted from the patrol the other day, and that she had thrown a fair-sized rock at him to wake him. Confused by the lack of vehemence he was sure there would be in her dark green eyes, he sneered defensively "Takes a bigger rock than that to smash my head in as I sleep, Elyse." Her lips curled into a tight smile as she swallowed a chunk of bread, her wrapped hand sitting in her lap. "You know full well I could figure out what it takes, and do it right the fucking first time. I will not seek revenge on you, Digger, but if you think I'm about to thank you for chopping off my bloody finger, you best not hold your breath waiting for that."

It didn't stop her from sparing the first patrol of kings men from her fury, however. Even the seething rage against Gregor that Sandor kept simmering in his chest did not compel him to do more than simply kill his opponent, unlike her. He watched, a silent sentinel, much like he had many times over in his service to the Lannisters; as Elyse carved pieces from her infinitely inferior opponent until he was a gibbering mess that cradled his steaming entrails with bloody stumps for hands. She was wild and hunched like a furious animal, dagger in her good hand and bandaged hand kept to her side and slightly behind her back defensively, as she crouched over her kill and breathed heavily. "It's done, Elyse. And you're the one throwing that mess into the woods, not me." Sandor did not look back towards her as he heaved the corpse of the sad green boy he had fought over his shoulder—A fight? Hardly what he'd call it. The Hound would have called him a gnat and laughed while toying with him, much like Elyse, but Sandor from the quiet isle knew more mercy than the Hound did and had simply tackled the boy down and went for the heart.

Sandor was reflective as he methodically stripped the corpse of anything useful, finding some more food in particular. Is Sandor good enough for this? Will The Hound need to come back before meeting Gregor? In the end he settled for believing that time would tell, and he'd embrace it for better or worse. Elyse was covered in thick, oozing blood by the time she made it back to camp, carelessly biting into an old apple that was clenched in her blood-caked hand. Sandor was calmly sharpening his sword as he peered over at her, rasping warily "Archers that we were with should've been here by now, cavalry probably caught up with them. They will be here sometime tomorrow or thereabouts, my guess." Sitting down heavily on her bedroll across from him, she nodded and tossed the apple core behind her before gingerly unwrapping the improvised bandage from her hand; Sandor caught the faint tremors in her fingers as she did such.

There was no stopping the gutteral growl she made as the bloodied fabric clung to the flesh, ripping it away without further hesitation and watching the blood flow anew with a dark fascination. Elyse' voice was hoarse, as though she had been screaming for hours "Don't tell anyone how this happened. They will feather me and exile you in a heartbeat, probably feather you too if Edgur has his way." Sandor grunted in response, also eyeing the fresh blood flowing down her hand as her fingers curled into a fist. "Found some bandages." he rasped and tossed them to her over the small fire, landing square in her lap. With a clumsiness he almost pitied, she slowly re-wrapped her hand and watched the fresh blood bloom through the fabric for a time before packing up the bandages and grunting her thanks to him.

There was no further talking until that night, which saw them sitting atop their bedrolls across the fire from one another. Elyse was picking blood flakes out of her braid and Sandor was eyeing the woods warily as her voice broke the silence between them, no longer hoarse or full of venom but soft and melancholy. "I put my fist in that sick fools hair when he came after me, dug my nails into his scalp. Too late to see his face was leather-hard and black, the damage was done. At least I kept the most of the blood from getting on me, now all I can do is wait and see if the blackness will return." the exposed flesh along her jaw twitched as she clenched it. Sandor frowned, unsure what to take from this, and from this unwelcome development from her. "Nothing to be done, wench." He used the barb knowing she hated it, but it held no malice. "Aye." She conceded, looking up at what stars there were to see through the canopy overhead.

It was two days past the time Sandor guessed that the bulk of the company would come up the road and meet them, but they arrived. As they ate their doled out rations that night, they caught up on news. Sandor sat on a stump near some other men, listening as they discussed the miserable weather and the state of the bloody ravens in the Kingswood, mostly from a particularly talkative scout with lanky brown hair, beady eyes and a decidedly weak voice. "Some fool lit a cabin on fire and the cavalry caught a fair-sized group of sellswords heading towards it across the kingsroad, ran them all down. Most fortuitous, that." Sandor hid his smirk behind a chunk of bread, lucky indeed. "But the scout group that went far south into the marshes at the end of the Wendwater hasn't come back, and we think this commander, Serillis, is making his own moves out here. Maybe reinforcing the river, don't know." the man shrugged "Been a while since we had some real fighting, lookin' forward to it, myself." other men meshed their agreements with his own as Sandor silently finished his meal and left to check on Stranger.

As he caught up with his horse, patting him affectionately and rubbing him down, Elyse came walking over and paused a healthy distance away. "Edgur wants your report. Enjoy." They both let out a snort of disdain, Elyse turning and heading into the woods while Sandor patted Stranger and made his way towards the command tent that had been set up along the Kingsroad. The guards let him step in without preamble and steely gray eyes met watery green. "Report, Digger." He sneered up at Sandor, safely behind a table with a large map laid out across it. Stepping up to the table and looking down at him pointedly, Sandor let the silence simmer uncomfortably for a few moments before rasping "Cold, wet, shitty. Found a patrol of two when we got on the Kingsroad and killed them, questioned one first. Enemy commanders name is Serillion, and apparently there are hundreds holding the Wendwater bridge and even more patrolling along its full length." Sandor snorted, letting Edgur know what he thought about that declaration. Edgur rested his hands flat on the table, looking down at the map thoughtfully before looking back up at Sandor, a glint in his eye. "And tell me, what happened to the little shadow's hand? Seems she is a finger shy." Sandor kept his face straight, looking down at him disinterestedly while he cursed himself for not asking Elyse what the story was to be, and cursed her even more for not thinking to say it to him either. So he settled for the biting sarcasm he usually leaned on in times like these. "She had a finger removed by a blade." He sneered, daring Edgur to pry more.

Edgur straightened, clearly put off by Sandors mulishness; but perhaps time and reflection had sobered him, because he kept his temper in check. Tapping the map between them to draw Sandor's eye, he sniffed in disdain before speaking up "We are some twenty-five miles shy of the Wendwater bridge, I've already sent one fast rider ahead to scout the numbers there. The southern expedition has gone missing in the swamps that the Wendwater feeds into, Serillion has made his move there." He tapped the southern edge of the river for emphasis. "What would be your recommendation?" It clearly pained him to say it, but Sandor was pleased that Edgur was apparently letting his desire to survive overtake his hatred of him. He stood there thoughtful for a time, letting his mind sort through the given information strategically before finally tapping the bridge. "Wait until you hear the number report. Dig in where we are now and keep scouts in the woods. No horses would be coming through that swamp, probably archers guided by huntsmen who have lived in the woods for years—there would be no fighting them on even ground if you sent your archers down south to meet them. Best let them come to you and be as ready as you can, unless you can take the bridge if it isn't fortified enough by Serillion." Sandor gazed down at the map as he worked through it, nodding slightly to himself.

Nodding in return, Edgur crossed his arms and frowned, looking up at Sandor. "We wait then. Best hope you prove useful in these gods-forsaken woods, Digger. I have not forgotten your transgressions, but may find it in me to overlook them if we experience success here." Sandor chuckled then, stone on steel "If we don't succeed here, I imagine we'll be dead." He was dismissed shortly afterwords and allowed himself to feel a warm glow of accomplishment. It was in his best interests to help these fools succeed, and so he would.

Elyse followed Sandor when he went trekking into the woods by himself, driven by curiosity and the desire to talk with him away from other ears. Her feet were bare once again since the weather warmed up and it was a small effort to be silent, especially at the healthy distance she followed. With all bodies of water swollen by the rains it was a short amount of time before Sandor was following the flow of small streams and found himself a watering hole. It almost looked man-made, an unnaturally deep and almost circular hole that was filled to the brim by the recent rain, ringed by thick moss and ancient trees. Sandor took a moment to loom over it and silently congratulate himself after testing the depth with a tree branch; it wasn't easy finding something deep enough to bathe in, aside from lakes and deep rivers.

When he started divesting himself of his armor, Elyse felt her phantom finger throbbing and stroked the hilt of her sheathed dagger slowly, the kind of loving caress Sandor shared with his rotten horse. The idea of leaping on him as he bathed and cutting him down seeped through her like poison, but she tapped the handle of her dagger lightly and flicked the thought away. Only when he eased into the pool and floated in it did she approach and make herself known. "Forgot to tell you what to say about the finger, but since nothing happened I imagine you did something right, for a change." He slowly turned around to look up at her, glaring and incredulous. "You couldn't talk to me before now? It's almost like you enjoy seeing me naked." He leaned forwards slightly, gripping the moss at the edge of the pond in his fists "Or maybe you were thinking about cutting off some of my parts, that it?" She had to grin broadly at him then, tugging her dagger partly from its sheath before sliding it back into place. "Crossed my mind, but I did tell you I wouldn't kill you over the finger, so I wont. And what if I did enjoy seeing you naked? Don't tell me you're all fuckin' shy now that you're not the one in control." Her eyes narrowed as she grinned even broader, sauntering over to stand beside all of his weapons, armor and clothing. She enjoyed the opportunity to look down at him for a change, a pleasing reversal of roles in her opinion.

His muscles bunched and tensed as he pressed his elbows to the soft moss, lifting himself just slightly while glaring up at her before he slid back into the water and visibly relaxed. "Don't need a sword to snap your pretty neck, believe that." Apparently done assessing her as a threat, he started scrubbing down without a second thought. His dismissal of her rankled more than she was willing to admit, being dismissed as not a threat had always been her biggest obstacle when operating in a man's world, but she wasn't going to take his bait either. Stomping over and sitting down at the edge of the pool with a graceless thump and a small splash as her feet dunked into it, she looked over his pleasingly muscular and scarred frame in the dimming light of the evening. Chuckling and shaking her head, she grabbed her braid and idly picked bits of blood and grime from it. "Word is there's movement to the south, my bet is on there actually being a force to the north, too. Gonna wait us out and then come in to pinch us from three directions at the bridge. They have had plenty of time to prepare for this, there is no way they were moving troops to this side of the river just recently. I told Edgur as much but he wasn't having that. Did you impart some practical knowledge on our great leader, by chance?"

Splashing his face and scrubbing at the thick stubble on the whole part, he opened his mouth to answer but paused when the sound of hushed voices caused both of them to go deathly silent. Without waiting for the owners of the voices to show themselves, Elyse fumbled out her left hand dagger and tossed it to Sandor before standing up and all but running up the nearest tree like some kind of squirrel; leaving Sandor clenching the knife and ducking down low in the water, hidden by the lip of the pond.

Elyse stood on a thick branch of the tree with her body braced against the rough bark of its trunk. All she wanted to do was howl in agony at the sharp stabbing pain that shot through her hand, but she forced what fingers remained to bend and hold tight. It was a worrisome sight when a group of four hooded men with longbows filtered through the forest, approaching the water where Sandor was trapped. "I know I heard something, watch yourselves." One low voice murmured, all of them had their bows free and an arrow knocked. Sandor, even if he had full armor on, would have been feathered if he came after them when they were ready like that. All she could do for the time being was watch, the pain of her chest constricting rivaling her throbbing hand.

The group paused when they saw Sandor's discarded clothing, armor and weapons. As one, their arrows trained on the murky pond while one man, smaller than the others, was nudged forwards to go check it out. Elyse watched Sandor, quirking a brow slightly when she thought he looked up at her, while the cloaked man crept forwards until he was at the lip of the pool directly over Sandor. The man did not spot him in time and a great splash, followed by a shout, obliterated the silence as he reached up to catch the man's jerkin and pulled him into the water as though he was a rag doll. The three remaining men let out hushed curses as they fearfully watched their brother's now discarded bow and the murky waters filling with the dark stain of blood.

With the element of surprise gone for Sandor, Elyse clambered around the tree so she could avoid arrows and let out a shrill whistle. An arrow planting itself between her fingers caused her grip to slip and it was all she could do to fall down the tree as gracefully as possible, coming to a landing at its trunk as two of the three men came running with arrows at the ready. Gasping in pain and clutching her hand to her chest, she cautiously looked around the tree and ducked back as an arrow flew past her face. "Don't move or you're a stuck pig, you hear me?" an angry voice hissed, his willingness to talk gave her some hope then, and she murmured breathlessly "Don't shoot, don't shoot!" in the most feminine tone she could muster.

When he heard two sets of feet stomping off, Sandor cautiously raised his head enough to quietly breathe, listening to the sounds of arrows hitting wood and a clipped conversation between a man and woman. Feet shifting uncomfortably in the grass nearby alerted him to there being one man remaining to guard, Sandor lifted the corpse of the man he was now standing on with his foot and carefully drew it up so that it would float up into view. "Eric? Gods." The man swore and shifted his feet nervously, but didn't budge. Gritting his teeth, he wiggled one of the corpses arms in a fairly lame attempt to make it look like he may very well be alive. Maybe the gods did favor him, because he heard the sharp intake of breath followed by cautious footsteps to the edge of the pond. All at once he let the armored corpse drop back down into the murk and threw his hands up to catch the feet of the man, blood rushing through his ears as an arrow tickled his face and flew into the water, missing its mark. As he took a deep breath to shout, Sandor's left hand clamped over his mouth and the far too small dagger Elyse loaned him pierced into his heart, silencing him permanently. It took some effort to get out of the water silently and get his sword belt and small-clothes on, but that was all the time he had to spare for it, judging by the sounds from the woods where Elyse and her pursuers had gone.


	12. Chapter 12

Negotiations had failed. _What a fucking understatement_ , Elyse thought to herself ruefully as she stood chest-first against the tree with her face at an awkward angle to the side, her own knife sticking out of her mouth. One of the two men had shoved her up against the tree and stuck the knife through her mouth and cheek hole to pin her in place, and then they both stood back and started using her for target practice. The first arrow pinned the leathers of her thighs to the tree, making her jerk in surprise and almost cleave the rest of her face away before she bit down on the blade and kept her place, a trickle of blood and saliva dripping down her chin and neck. “Your friend in the pond is going to get feathered when he so much as lifts his head, you hear me you poxed whore? And maybe, if my dick can get hard enough after looking at your awful face, I'll have you before killing you and leaving your body for your Golden Company friends to find.” By now she had four arrows pinning her to the tree, one between each thigh and one on either side of her neck, while blood flowed freely from her mouth where her tongue was getting ribboned with each slight jerk she couldn't control.

“Hold your braid up, wench.” She listened, cautiously reaching over her shoulder and pulling up her braid, holding it to the tree beside her head. Clenching her teeth on the blade of her knife hard, she happened to look into the woods ahead and couldn't hide her confusion when she thought that she caught a glimpse of naked flesh nearby, she didn't even jump when her braid was pinned to the tree by another arrow. Luckily they had misinterpreted her lack of reaction as boredom, and soon the two men were talking in hushed, but easily hearable, tones. “Where is Wesson, anyway? Guess the man is really hiding in that puddle for all he's worth...” the other man who had yet to talk sounded more nervous “I don't know, maybe we should just leave her here and go check. We should report back, too. If they are here then the main camp can't be so far away...” Chatty, as Elyse started calling him in her head, huffed in annoyance at the other mans good sense. “Not yet.” It was then that she found his body pressed flush against her back and his rancid breath in her ear whispering hungrily “You look good from this angle, wench. Bet every man in the golden company has had you, too.” he groped her ass in his hands and squeezed mercilessly, chuckling at his own poor humor. Elyse was unfortunately focused intensely on clenching her knife and keeping her tongue away from it to even try responding with words, but inhaled sharply when his filthy hands crept beneath her armor and splayed across her hard stomach. “Sounds like she wants it too!” His grin, which she could not see, was obvious. With her head at its current angle she found it easy enough to stare off into the woods, searching hopefully for some renewed sign that she wasn't about to suffer an unfortunate fate. Elyse was not disappointed, and actually started to giggle maniacally as she saw Sandor almost completely naked and poised to strike with his sword free.

Jabbing his elbow into her spine with a malicious fury, Chatty whispered “What's so damn funny, bitch? Maybe you won't be laughing when I fill your arse!” Grunting in pain, she stifled herself and waited, it was not long. Whoever the other man had been, he let out a startled cry first and by the sound of it had tried very hard to knock an arrow in time before being cleaved, the wet sound of flesh being rent asunder and Sandor's furious snarl was a symphony to her ears. Chatty flung away from her as if she had been lit aflame, and she dearly wished she could have seen the look on his face as he was shredded by a nearly naked man. Heavy breathing was all that filled her ears after the brief battle, Sandors from his exertion and Elyse from being so very close to death.

He had thought she was dead, pinned up to the tree as she was, and he slew the two scouts with a fury that hadn't touched him since the bread riot when he was still the Hound. But as it faded away and he swiped his sword clean on the cloak of one of the dead fools, he started to hear her ragged breaths and took a closer look. As she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision, she started to giggle maniacally, blood dripping anew to drip from her chin and down her leather-clad shoulder. Blinking slowly, he closed the distance between himself and her in a few short strides; leaning down some to press his chest into her back while his mouth came to her ear, not missing how her breath skipped and the giggling died quickly as he murmured in his raspy voice, tone deepened by the excitement of battle “Don't tell me you're all shy now that you're not in control.”

If his voice was a weapon, she would've been impaled upon it then, so sharp was the spike it sent through her stomach when he whispered into her ear. When he chuckled it was almost as bad, and she growled helplessly in response. Thankfully he didn't have any greater designs than to tease her then, and she looked at the details of his hand as it curled into a fist in front of her mouth around the hilt of the dagger. It was rough and calloused with coarse black hair on the knuckles and as he grasped the hilt she thought it might be almost the size of her blasted head, kind of chilling really. His close proximity also filled her nose with his scent, earthy, male with the sharp tang of blood that he was no doubt splashed with and the murky water that was still dripping off him, it fogged her mind and distracted her from the pain when he carefully pulled the dagger out of the tree—and her mouth. “Gods, the extra hole has always bitten me in the ass, but that was a new one.” she whispered with a rasp of her own, reaching up to rub her sore jaw as Sandor withdrew and began snapping the arrows that pinned her to the tree roughly. Their blood was up and together they silently agreed that no more need be said. Elyse recovered quickly enough and was thankful to retrieve her other knife while Sandor clothed himself fully, they had to rush through the dark to report what had happened as quick as possible. Serillion's forces were moving at a faster pace than anticipated and the company needed to be warned. Before they left, Elyse was pleased to notice that Chatty had been cleaved in half, it gave her a primal thrill.

Pulling the knife from her mouth and watching a trail of bloody saliva link to her lips and drip off the edge of the blade was oddly erotic, but Sandor kept his senses about him despite the fierce urge to leave her arrowed to the tree and fuck her senseless. He wouldn't forget that blackened finger he cut off, the fear of seeing his cock blackened and needing amputation was more than enough to stamp down his arousal. 

From the moment they arrived back at the camp roaring their warning about the scouts, they were both swept into a frenzy of movement that blurred into days. The Bloody Ravens were harried from the south in the night, several scouts found dead in the morning. It seemed the group that was meant to harry from the north were the ones that Sandor and Elyse dealt with. The very next day the rider sent to check on the situation at the Wendwater bridge arrived on his lathered horse, babbling about the corpses of their southern scouting group being strung up in the trees around the bridge and there being no one within sight. With the bridge being clear, Edgur called for the Ravens to move forwards once again. Their procession was much slower than normal, everyone keeping tight together and on high alert, it didn't stop them from being harried in the night. Each morning revealed a couple more dead men, their numbers being chipped away by the ghosts of the forest.

When they had finally arrived at the bridge, at least fifteen men the poorer, they beheld the strung up corpses for themselves. Elyse had decided to ditch all false pretenses during their trip and road beside Sandor on her palfrey almost exclusively, albeit silently. Now she warily crossed the bridge on foot with several other men to check for signs of camps or life in general. As Sandor watched her stride quickly back across the bridge towards them she fell down to a crawl when an arrow, launched from their side of the bridge, nearly hit her. He vaguely registered her hoarse yell of “We're under attack!” before the enemy fell upon the Ravens from all around them and he was swept into the fray, the Ravens men immediately on the defensive and fighting for their lives. The cavalry could only cut and ride down men when the battle spilled onto the road, and they were fodder to the archers in the trees. It wasn't long before he found himself on foot with Elyse and a group of men who'd gone into the enemy lines hunting for the archers.

Elyse had only her bow and arrows to contribute to their group, and used them well. Her finger had scabbed over thickly enough to forgo the wrappings on her hand and she only spent arrows to take out the archers who hid in trees while Sandor and the other four men they had teamed up with gave her cover. One of the men had failed to raise his shield in time when an archer they were pursuing managed to get an errant shot off, blood blooming from the shaft sticking out of his throat. Before he had even finished his death throes, Sandor ripped his shield out of his hands and filled the gap, using his two-hander in one hand and raising the shield in the other. By the time they had swung back towards the bulk of the battle the sounds of intense fighting were all but gone, punctuated only by small skirmishes and the wails of injured and dying alike. Sandor felt a curious sense of appreciation well inside of him at how their group had functioned despite not knowing one another, like real trained men. It was not familiar to him, having been one of only a few truly competent fighters under the Lannisters wings, and himself never being privy to the feel of comradery.

The battle was won, but even though they were ready for an attack the Bloody Ravens had been cut into deeply. Even Edgur had to fight for his life it seemed, he had no small amount of cuts and his shield looked akin to a porcupine with all of the arrow shafts sticking out of it. Edgur caught sight of their group approaching and called them over as he sat sweating on a tree stump “I saw what you men were doing, good job catching the archers.” All of them nodded tiredly in response. Elyse stepped into sight around Sandor as she slung her bow, her tone of voice cautious “Any sign of Serillion, or enemy survivors?” Edgurs gaze sharpened into a glare when he looked at Elyse, but he was apparently subdued by the battle and responded evenly “No word of Serillion being present, yet. There are survivors though, they will be questioned when we're finished regrouping and setting up camp.”

Even as they spoke the chopping of wood had started ringing out over the calls of the injured, and defensive trenches were being dug. The Bloody Ravens were digging in at the Wendwater bridge, at last. Edgur dismissed them and returned to his blood spattered map, leaving the group to go about helping with the camp. Before they parted however, the three men he was not familiar with took it upon themselves to shake his hand and slap his arm, complimenting him and letting him know that he was appreciated. “I'll be glad to fight alongside you again, Digger!” was one of the more frequent compliments, and Sandor found himself grudgingly accepting their compliments and even returning a few of his own. They guarded him as much as he guarded them and were men of some quality, after all. It did not escape his notice that not a one of the men spared Elyse a word or even a look, and he knew full well that she played a part in their success, too. _That irks me more than it should_ , he thought warily.

Having excused herself from the group, fostering a sour feeling in her gut that some would call envy, Elyse took it upon herself to begin sharpening stakes for the trenches from some of the smaller trees and branches that had been felled already. Sandors presence soon filled up a space beside her, the sound of his knife steadily prying away at wood joining her more frantic, furious pace. Elyse was the first to break the peaceful rhythm they had established, and Sandor watched her brow furrowing deeply as she glared at the fresh branch she was to carve up, “They are right of course, you did excellent. I should be thanking you too.” she chuckled ruefully, to which he snorted. “Crawl right up on my hands and knees and plant my lips on your arse cheeks, just like them.” He barked a laugh at that, and so did she.

“I knew someone once who'd tell you that being congratulated for killing gnats means nothing.” He smirked, and her dark eyes glancing at him caught the gesture. “Wasn't some tall grim fucker was he?” “Aye, he was.” she snorted and grinned, looking truly tired in that moment “Well, if I met him, I'd have to tell him I agree and that being congratulated for doing your job right is no congratulation at all.” “He would agree.” Sandor chuckled and tucked into the work. It was when they were spiking the trenches together when he decided to kick up the conversation again. “You know, I don't put stock in woman warriors.” She shot him a confused look while tugging on a stake to check its sturdiness “Follow me around for some other reason, then?”

Ignoring her response, he continued as he shoveled a hole into the damp soil “Women are always smaller, have to use smaller weapons and are easy to cut down with the natural extra range of arm and sword.” he paused then, looking at her seriously “but worse yet, if you're injured and paired with some woman, she won't be able to pull or carry you to safety because women lack the strength of arm for such tasks.” Silence fell between them, and people who happened to be nearby had started to move away in anticipation of a conflict.

Elyse had paused, hand coiled loosely around the stake she had just planted, licking her lips thoughtfully. Her tone was measured and voice oddly calm, “Aye. You're right, on all accounts even.” her eyes snapped to him then, grip tightening on the stake. “But any woman who can conquer those odds and thrive is a better fighter than most men, and I would surely love to see _anyone_ pick you up when you're dead weight, Digger. What are you, 25 stone with that armor on?” Her lips curled into a sly grin then “Best of all, if a woman is injured and paired with a man, at least the man won't have to tax himself to get her out of harms way.”

Elyse resumed burying stakes while he continued to shovel new holes for them, the tension of the moment melting away as he responded in what she felt was a pleased tone. “You know, I gave that argument to some she-bear from the north once. She tried to skewer me with her sword instead of actually use her pretty head and give a good argument, she lost.” Elyse laughed, grimacing slightly as a fine cut to her jaw that had been healing popped open “Foolish wench!” They both left it unsaid that they had never been paired with anyone who would give enough of a shit to carry them if they had fallen.


	13. Chapter 13

With the capture of multiple enemies in the battle of the Wendwater, much new information was gleaned. Serillion had laid out a plan for his force to defend the Kingswood but had fled back to King's Landing with Mace Tyrell and the bulk of his army when they came from Storm's End, which was left only with a small garrison to defend it. With the reluctant and sometimes completely unwilling help of the woodsmen and hunters who lived in the Kingswood; Serillion's men had done the best they could with the instructions they were given and had been all but wiped out in the battle at the Wendwater bridge, they were no longer a threat. If Storm's End was really garrisoned so poorly, it was expected that the Golden Company could be almost upon Bronzegate by now, keeping in mind that the host moves much slower than a small group of 100.

Their own losses after the battle were steep, 64 men remained and many were nursing injuries. With the losses however, came a wealth of newly freed up resources. Elyse capitalized on the influx of tents in particular and secured one for herself without argument, finally. Their fortifications sprung up over the next few days, all able bodied men working hard to secure their position as thoroughly as possible. Log walls and palisades surrounded their camp which had been split in half to guard both sides of the bridge equally, and the tree line was cut back far enough to provide fair warning of any approaching attackers.

“Seven horse fucking hells!” Elyse snapped furiously, waving her chunk of salted horse meat in one hand and pressing the other against her mouth. Sandor frowned at her from where he sat, pausing mid sharpening motion over his sword “What now?” Sucking in a breath and slowly lowering her hand away from her mouth, she glared at him and muttered in an acidic tone “Burns too much to eat the bloody meat, all the salt in the cuts...” Frustrated, she sliced the part she had bitten away and tossed the untouched piece to Sandor, who dropped his whetstone to catch it. Smirking and unsympathetic, he popped the meat into his mouth and chewed while Elyse tore into a piece of bread and frowned heavily. “How did you even let them stick your face to the tree like that anyway, wench? I know you're more competent than that.”

Thoughtful, Elyse shrugged and chewed for a time, swallowing before she responded “All I had to do was survive until you dealt with the one that they left behind. Not likely that I could kill them with two drawn arrows pointing at my face, and not many men can resist making an example out of a woman when they get a chance. Just another one of those womanly skills that come in handy, I suppose.” She smirked, curious to see his reaction. He had picked up his whetstone and started sharpening his sword again by the time he rasped back at her “So, if I did die in the pond you would have simply been raped and killed without defending yourself?” he sounded incredulous, his facial expression neutral but for the twitching of his ruined flesh. Rolling her eyes dramatically, she had expected him to belittle her skills as a warrior, not focus on some minute detail. “Had it come down to it, I would have pulled the knife from my face myself and stabbed him if I was fast enough; Then cut the arrows pinning me and used his corpse as a shield to get at the other one. Satisfied?” 

His shoulders heaved in a brief shrug “One way to do it, I guess. A man like me doesn't get to woo his opponent if things aren't going his way.” She laughed then, a hearty natural laughter that he enjoyed, although he'd never tell her that. “Cheer up Digger, only half your face is ugly. Some people are born with a completely ugly face. Maybe you could woo your opponent if there was more than a handful of woman fighters out there.” she smirked, enjoying her own witticisms.

“Haven't looked at me much, have you?” he snarked, reaching up to touch his ruined cheek briefly. For a moment her expression softened, and she pulled out her own whetstone to touch her daggers up. Soon the rhythmic scraping between the two of them filled the silent void. Sandor used the time to reflect, a skill he picked up on the Quiet Isle. It was interesting to see someone in a similar situation, for he saw much of his old self in Elyse. An ugly burned man could still be a strong sword arm and command respect from his peers through example or fear, but what about a maimed woman? He thought of the daughter of Stannis Baratheon, touched by greyscale and ugly to boot, nothing fortunate would ever come her way. All the courtesies and pointless lady skills in the seven kingdoms could be at her fingertips and no one would ever desire her, even with the name of a powerful house. He could not think of a scenario of what would happen to a commoner woman who ended up like that, and looked at Elyse thoughtfully when he reached that conclusion. Maybe a Septa or some other member of the faith. His lips curled into a smirk as he tried to think of Elyse that way. Impossible, she is like a grown up version of that little wolf-bitch, Arya.

Elyse wasn't sure why Sandor was smirking at her, but she calmly returned his gaze and held it, curious. Grey eyes, bloody Stark eyes. No wonder why you favor her, you moon-eyed stable boy. Sandor chuckled darkly then, looking her over. “See something interesting, Digger?” Her tone was amiable, but a warning all the same. Snorting, he deflected as best he could “Do you? Been eating me with your eyes this whole time, girl.” chuckling softly, her voice took on a playful tone “Eating you? I suppose I could...” It wasn't what he was expecting, but Sandor was always ready for banter. “You can't even eat a strip of horse meat, never mind MY meat.” he boasted, grinning. “I've seen your meat, Digger. I don't think you're living up to the expectations set for big men, to be honest.” Sandor had the good grace to look offended.

When the last of the fortifications were finished, it was just a matter of time until the Golden Company joined them once again. The day of their approach was obvious when the three dragons soared overhead, trumpeting the arrival of their Queen. Elyse was in a tree when they passed over and almost fell out of it as their shrieks pierced the cool morning air. Sandor was checking palisades and looked up with his mouth hanging open and a fearful expression, he wasn't the only one. That evening he and Elyse sat across a fire from one another, a familiar routine, except for the dark expressions they both wore as they sharpened and cleaned their weapons. “King's Landing is next, you know.” she remarked idly, “What of it? Not keen on seeing that stinking shit hole again.” Sandor rasped in an acidic tone.

“The Company is going to need to know what is going on there. If you're as keen to kiss the Queen's boots and stare at her dragons as I am, you'll be wanting to see that 'stinking shit hole' with me, I wager.” He looked across the flames at her then, lip twitching in that way she discovered it did when he was annoyed “Seven hells Elyse, not a soul in Westeros that doesn't know my face. We'd be killed immediately, if we're lucky.” she sighed at him then, speaking as though to a child “I'm a scout, Digger. There will be no going into King's Landing. Just viewing it from afar and taking stock of what we can from that. The Queen can fly over the damn place if she really wants to see things up close, anyway. So what do you say? Edgur has been getting back to his old self as of late, wouldn't count on him not sending us to some hell if we don't act soon, anyway.” Sandor let out a long, even breath. Bugger the Queen and her Dragons.

Edgur glowered at the two of them, his face scabbed and covered in yellowed healing bruises. “Aye, to King's Landing with you. You will also go to Stokeworth and Rosby to get word from the commoners.” Seeing Sandors trepidation, he amended “Elyse will go to Stokeworth and Rosby, you'll keep out of sight, Digger.” Quick to be off, Elyse nodded and briskly started walking out of the tent while talking “We're off then, been ready to go for some time already.” Sandor followed silently.

Sandor was happy to be on Stranger and heading towards his unspoken goals again, and Elyse was trotting alongside him on her palfrey. They decided to stick to the Kingsroad and rely on being bristling with weapons and possibly the most visually disturbing pair in the seven kingdoms to discourage any unwanted advances. “You seem almost cheerful, Digger. I thought you said you weren't pleased to be heading to King's Landing?” He schooled his features back to his usual dour expression then, “Good to be moving again, regardless. Tired of this gods-forsaken woods and archers hiding in trees.” Elyse could only grunt in agreement, she wasn't keen on archers either. “I've never seen King's Landing, what awaits me?” “Do I look like a fucking tour guide to you?”

They had met neither travelers nor enemies during their ride through the Kingswood, until they reached the fork where the Rosewood joined to the Kingsroad. Both of them drew to a stop at the crossroads when they saw a small procession; a family of bedraggled children and women lead by an old man who clenched a repurposed club in his hand anxiously when he saw the two mounted warriors in his path. Sandor let his hand touch the hilt of his sword in a clear warning, but Elyse smoothly slid off of her palfrey and called out “At ease, old man! You'll come to no harm from us. But where do you and your brood hail from? King's Landing, perhaps?” She was wearing her greatsword and daggers, having bound her quiver and bow to her palfrey for easy access while riding. The man's look of revulsion was clear when he saw her face, but his stance relaxed just slightly and he spoke in a tired voice “Aye, managed to get my kin out before they locked it up. Too many filthy bodies there, Bloody Flux is having a go at it. I don't suggest getting near anyone who you find runnin' from King's Landing, milady.” Pursing her lips, Elyse frowned and nodded. “We will be on our way then, my thanks.”

Some time after the bedraggled group were out of sight, Elyse started talking again. “Wonder if they recognized you? Well, no matter. Bloody flux! That city could be dead inside by the time we get there...” Sandor was frowning heavily, eyes continually scanning everything in sight as they trotted easily down the beaten path “I won't be going near that city, or those towns, with the Flux raging. Don't have any desire to shit my guts out, you can do that yourself if you want.” Elyse shrugged, rubbing her missing finger as she spoke “No desire to shit myself to death either, Digger. But I'll do what I can to get the job done, if I feel it is safe enough. You can hide in the forest like some great tree while I do our job, if it please you.” her lips curled into a mirthful grin then. “Very few things involving you please me, Elyse.” “You wound me, Digger. I thought we were the best of friends.” gritting his teeth, Sandor muttered “Maybe wounding you would put some sense in you.”

Soon they were seeing mounted and armed men, and each time they did it was minutes of tense posturing and silent threats until the lesser men made way for their betters. Sometimes it was clear that Sandor was recognized, and when that happened their passage was clear immediately. Elyse marveled at the kind of reputation a man would have to sew to be recognized and feared across seven kingdoms, let alone one. Sandor however, was silent and his demeanor grew darker with every shrinking mile between themselves and King's Landing. One night, less than a days travel left to the city, Sandor slowly stood up and stared off at the horizon. Cautious, Elyse followed suit, clasping a hand around her sword until she saw what he was looking at. “Seven hells, it's burning.” she whispered, Sandor remained transfixed—staring at the orange glow and remembering “Last time it was green.”

The very next day they found out for true what was happening, catching a fleeing man-at-arms and questioning him from a distance at bow point, no longer willing to risk getting close to anyone. When Mace Tyrell's army arrived in King's Landing, which was already starving, the bloody flux began to spread through flea bottom and consume the city from the inside out. The Red Keep was completely closed off from the masses and unchecked rioting lead to the fires that had been raging for days. If the smallfolk weren't being killed by the flux, fires and thugs were finishing them off. Another piece of news that drew Sandors attention was that Cercei had absconded to Casterly Rock with King Tommen and as many loyal men as she could, shortly before the flux and riots began, but he kept his interest of that particular subject to himself.

“Well, given the information we currently have, I don't think I'll be going near King's Landing.” “First smart thing you've said in days, girl.” “But we will skirt around it and I will take the time to get information from Stokeworth, at least.” “Madness.” Exasperated, she looked at him with furrowed brows “Then what would you have me do? I hate Edgur just as much as the next bloke, but we've a duty...” Sandor cut in sharply “Take to the woods and wait for the Golden Company to come, maybe your Queen will be smart enough to burn the whole fucking place down and kill the sickness inside.” she smirked then, smugly “You don't know the Queen very well, it seems. No, we'll go to Stokeworth and figure out what is next from there.” Sandor glared at her, a threatening edge to his posture that Elyse had not seen directed at her since Griffin's Roost, which left her wary “You brought me to give you advice because I've lived here my whole life, then ignore it? Not smart, girl.” Licking her lips, Elyse held his gaze and straightened her posture “Your advice is just that—advice. I choose not to heed it at this moment, and Edgur may not have told you who was in charge... But let me assure you, that's me.” her eyes narrowed, waiting for his response.

The sound of a throat clearing noisily nearby broke their standoff, two pairs of gray eyes snapping to look at a group of six men, bristling with weapons of their own and all steel drawn. “Whats this now, some lovers spat?” A tall man with a thick axe in either hand remarked, sharing a blackened grin with them while his companions chuckled. Elyse and Sandor snarled as one “Piss off!” blinking and looking at each other quickly at the odd coincidence before looking back at the men and pulling their swords free. “Six on two? Or should I say six on one, Clegane? Who's your wench? By the gods, she might just be uglier than you!” Nervous laughter echoed through their group as they started to spread out through the tall grass around Sandor and Elyse.

Their horses were too far away to get to, but Elyse and Sandor were well rested, in good form and their blood was already up. Licking her lips and grinning, she nudged Sandors arm slightly “If you can kill more of them than me, you can choose what we do next.” Tossing his head back and laughing savagely, Sandor grinned, eyes alight with the promise of blood “You're on wench!” Snarls erupted from every one of the combatants and they leaped forwards as one.

Sandor plowed forwards into the three men at his front and Elyse began dancing through the three at hers, one powered by brutality and the other by agility. The fool with the two small axes fell first to Sandor, his arms cleaved off when he attempted a wild swing, Sandor shouting over his scream triumphantly “One!” Elyse ducked and rolled past the strikes of two men, one who cut high and the other low, spinning to her feet and throwing the momentum into her arms as she swung and felt the satisfying impact of her sword cleaving through two spines, snarling hoarsely as she spun to face a man with sword and shield “Two!” high screams began to pierce the air as Sandor slammed into a man wielding mace and shield, knocking him down and hammering on his wooden shield with jarring strikes until both the shield and the bone in the mans arm exploded “Two!” he roared, staring down a man with a long spear that had hung back when he should've been stabbing at him while he had a chance. Elyse saw stars when her opponent rammed her head with his shield, but recovered fast enough to slip around his quick stab and open his jugular with her knife in one fluid unsheathing motion. Spinning around to watch Sandor with the final man, she licked her lips and put her sword down, hefting the dagger in her hand and waiting. All it took was one missed stab and Sandor grabbed the shaft of the spear, pulling it from the mans grip like an adult taking a child's toy away. Surprise and dismay bloomed on his burned features as a familiar dagger buried itself to the hilt in the man's chest, ending his life with a solid thunk. Anger simmering, he gripped the spear in his hand tightly as he turned around and watched Elyse approaching; leisurely silencing those who were still amongst the living until she was within arms reach, smiling and unaware of the rage he had schooled into a blank expression. “Four, Digger. We go to Stokeworth.”

Both sheathed their weapons in a smooth motion, Sandor dropping the spear and turning to face Elyse. His expression never changed when he jerked forwards and curled his hand around her throat, her eyes lighting up in surprise and fear as he lifted her up effortlessly and squeezed, rasping furiously “I should just kill you and be on my way Elyse.” Fury sparking in her eyes, she reached for her daggers quickly but he shook her like a rag doll until her brain rattled; the weapons slipping from her fingers and falling useless to the ground at Sandor's feet. Watching how his hand curled around her neck with room to spare, he took a deep breath and slowly lowered her to her feet; slackening his grip until she gasped in a huge breath to relieve her poor burning lungs. Her hands were still grasping at his thick forearm, neither able to close around it with his armor on, maybe not even without it. “Never let your guard down, girl. Not even with me.” Getting her breathing under control, she glared up at him with an injured expression and murmured “For what it's worth, I would have carried you as best I could.” Sandor let her go as fast as if she were on fire.


	14. Chapter 14

“Quit laughing.” Elyse's voice was pitched as high as a squeaky squire and her neck had a sickly purple, yellow and green hand print on it. Sandor couldn't keep himself from laughing mirthfully at her continued misfortunes, even if he was the cause of that particular one. They had skirted around King's Landing, not letting anyone near from there on out. Elyse kept her bow at the ready at all times possible, and for a few unfortunate days the wind did not favor them and they were cloaked with thick smoke that drifted miles across the countryside from King's Landing. But now they were approaching Stokeworth, having made camp in the woods for the day and coming in during the night, there was not as many fleeing people as they thought there would be. Finally quelling his mirth, Sandor tugged his hood a notch lower as they trotted into the town, Elyse left hers off though, better to let people see her face and think twice. Both of them dismissed the stable boy at the inn they had chosen, opting to put their horses away themselves before making their way in. 

The Merry Maiden was the Inn's name, and the blast of merriment combined with the stench of unwashed bodies knocked them both back briefly when they opened the inn door, a shock after being in seclusion for so long. Steeling herself, Elyse strode in with purpose towards an exceptionally busty serving woman who looked like she almost shrieked when she turned around to greet the people approaching her and beheld Elyse's face in plain sight. However, the woman caught herself and forced a wide smile at Elyse and her looming cloaked partner, “What c'n I do fer ya, milord and milady?” Dismissing her pleasantries with a brief gesture, Elyse swallowed hard before talking, succeeding in forcing her damaged vocal chords to sound deep and raspy instead of high and cracky “Two rooms for the night, two baths, ale and food.” Digging into her pocket, she procured the coin required and looked the woman in the eye when she looked surprised at the strange currency of Essos, daring her to not take it. Thankfully she took it in stride and did not flinch when she pocketed the coin, smiling and gesturing to the room “Make yerselves at home m'lady and m'lord!”

Sandor had noticed the din of the inn lowering considerably as Elyse took care of their arrangements, feeling the pressing of many pairs of eyes resting on him and then her. It did however pick back up as him and Elyse navigated the room and found a suitable table against a wall, letting them both comfortably cover their back and look over the room while they waited for their hot food.

It was not long before another girl, young and squirrely, served up their meal and ale, all but fleeing from them after. Both kept their ears trained on the conversations that were happening within earshot as they tucked in ravenously. Neither could remember the last time they had hot meat, soup and bread that didn't threaten to break teeth. Stuffing an errant piece of meat back into her mouth from the side, Elyse slurped noisily and rested her head against the wall.  
“Can't sell my wares in King's Landing, don't dare...”  
“Fucking Riverlands infested with the Brotherhood..”  
“Heading to Essos, fuck this place.”  
“With Cercei holed up in Casterly Rock with the little King..”  
“Golden Company is coming and I ain't going to stay long enough to see what them and this dragon queen are about...”  
Elyse glanced at Sandor before closing her eyes, listening to the bits of conversation floating around and wishing she was more familiar with the names of the movers and shakers of Westeros. Sandor however, was focusing intensely on the conversation that involved Cercei, knowing his brother would not be far from her.  
“Should we make our way to Lannisport on the morrow, then?” “To hells with that, Bernard. I don't want to be anywhere near the Lannisters after all of this... You didn't see Ser Robert Strong the way I did. It ain't natural.” “I may not have seen 'em, but I still think yer getting riled over nothing. You think Cercei is going to waste her breath on a drunken sod like you?” “No, Bernard. I ain't taking any chances. Maidenpool is where we're going, well me anyway, you can go to bloody Lannisport if you please.” “Take it easy, you know I'll follow you, Ulf.”

When he looked up from his empty ale mug, Sandor saw Elyse' dark green eyes staring hard at him from under her slightly furrowed brow. Her lips were pursed into a tight line as he returned the look questioningly before she glanced down at her own empty mug, wiggling it with her hand slightly and then jerking her head towards the stairs. “Night.” She croaked, standing up with the intention of going to her room. Sandor saw the hand of one drunken sod catch her thigh as she tried to walk past, but staid his hand to see how she would handle it, having yet to see this kind of interaction with her.

As the grimy hand landed on her leather-clad thigh, Elyse stopped and looked at the man who leered up at her blearily, slurring and grinning “Aye, why don' you sit with me for a lil', then we can go t' my room. I have coin, don't you worry abou' tha' part.” His hand moved to give her rump a firm pat, which she tolerated and started to smile sweetly at him. He had yet to see the other side of her face, after all. Watching his expression with amusement as she slowly turned to face him, his hand flew off of her in a snap and he murmured “Gods!” Deciding to have some fun, Elyse edged closer to him and turned her head fully so he was looking straight at her maimed cheek, then stuck her tongue out of it and wiggled it at him before straightening up and laughing at his disgusted look. Her voice cracked high and wavered annoyingly, “You touch me again, tough man, and your balls are mine.” There was no further disruptions when she turned and made her way up the stairs, eager for her bath. Sandor was entertained by the performance and opted to imbibe more ale before making his own way to his bath, which would be far too small, like every other bath in the bloody seven kingdoms. Nobody tried to touch him.

Even though the bath was indeed tiny, he soaked as best he could and groaned happily when his tired muscles soaked up the heat, rubbing his scarred leg firmly for a time before scrubbing the filth of travel away. He had barely sat on his bed before Elyse let herself in and bumped the door shut with her foot, holding a large pitcher of ale and two mugs in her hands as she eyed him. Sighing and resting his head against the wall as he sat there, water dripping down his chest from his hair as he grumbled “I want to sleep, woman.” Ignoring his whine, she put the mugs down on the small table and tugged it up beside the bed, planting the pitcher of ale on it and then pulling up the single chair for herself.

Elyse schooled her features well when she entered Sandor's room, but was keenly aware that he was only in his smallclothes and still dripping from his own bath. Her hair was still wet too, but she had wrangled it back into a quick braid and tossed her casual clothing on, denying him any similar viewing experiences. Plunking down in the chair and tossing her bare feet up on to his bed, she tilted her head to the side and looked at his bath tub, letting out a soft chuckle “How did you even fit in that? Never mind, I have something else to talk about.” she waved her hand dismissively at him when he was about to snark at her over the tub. “I'm tired too, but who is Cercei? Don't think I haven't noticed you tensing up like you're ready for war whenever that name comes up.” she was almost whispering, trying to take it easy on her voice, but it was enough. She did not miss him tensing up again as she asked, either. Were it not questionable that he might smash her into the floor just then, she would enjoy how all of his well defined muscles bunched together and pressed against the scarred flesh that kept them covered.

Gritting his teeth, Sandor measured his words before speaking them. Elyse was a dutiful soldier, he firmly believed she wouldn't hesitate to strike if she knew the real reason why he had joined the company, especially after all the effort she made to get him in it. “I served the Whore Queen, and then her son, good King Joffrey, may he rest in all the seven hells.” Smirking, but tense, he looked down at her and watched as she poured herself a mug of ale and swigged, heedless of the liquid that escaped her cheek and trailed down her bruised neck. “Ahhh,” she intoned after swallowing, a pleased look of comprehension on her tired features “that would explain the 'Lannister dog' incident, indeed. Who was she married to, that she was Queen?” At his questioning frown, she clarified “I left Westeros during Robert's Rebellion, I am almost completely in the dark about what happened in Westeros afterwords, minus the demise of the Targaryens.” Pawing at his face tiredly, he let out a huff and nodded “Robert's Rebellion succeeded, you know that much. She married Robert Baratheon, great drunken sod he turned out to be.” Both of them were having trouble keeping their eyes open and it was getting harder by the minute; and so Elyse staggered to her feet then, giving his body a brave once-over, smiling slyly at the frown he returned. “We can continue this another night, it sounds like one of those longer kind of stories.” He didn't bother responding as she swept out of the room and made for her own, only getting as comfortable as he could on the small bed and falling into a deep sleep.

Morning came too soon, and neither Sandor nor Elyse made mention of sleeping some hours past dawn. Their only worry was for Sandor's identity anyway, they were not hard pressed for time. As they lead their horses from the stables, their attention was drawn to several men who pointedly came to stand in front of them. Stepping ahead of her horse and giving a subtle placating gesture to Sandor, Elyse called out in a relaxed tone “You need something?” They were a scraggly bunch, but armed, and it is never wise to completely disregard someone who is armed. A large, portly man with a bald head called out gruffly “Aye, I want to see the face of your friend, lass.” each man with him nodded in agreement, gripping their weapons tighter and fidgeting. Tilting her head slightly, she smiled and rested a hand on her hip while gripping the reins of her palfrey, giving off a haughty laugh “You wish to inspect my slave?” This received some harsh barks of laughter and incredulous looks, but she continued. “He is mine and he wears the hood as I bid. I'll not sell him, if that is what you're considering. He is quite useful to me.”

It was good that Sandor's face was hidden, because he wasn't capable of restraining the angry look that came over him when the little wench decided to play him off as a bloody _slave_. The portly man snorted in disdain “A slave? No slaves here in Westeros, woman. What man would let himself be controlled by a creature such as yourself? Got half a mind to free him of you.” Her lips pinched together firmly, before chuckling softly “I'm a kind owner, you'll find he doesn't care to be freed. I suggest not trying.” Raising her left hand from her hip, she snapped her fingers sharply after a brief fumble due to her lack of index finger. Sandor drew himself up and played along, unsheathing his sword silently.

All the false bravado between the group of men melted away at the gesture of the cloaked giant. Each stepping backwards as the fat man's eyes widened and his voice took on a much more respectful tone, much to Elyse's unspoken resentment. “Hold! No need for that.. Just thought we recognized him, big man he is..” Elyse cut in sharply, no longer keeping any false pretenses that she was pleased “He is from Essos, you do not know him. Begone.” “Aye... Aye we will, lets be off then.” He acquiesced briskly, and with that they were free to leave the town once more. As they walked their horses in silence, Sandor keeping his mouth shut for the time being, he took in his companion's profile in comparison to the other women that they passed.

He noticed that Elyse was tall then, having been unable to compare her to anything but himself and other men all this time, it became obvious as she topped most other women easily even in her bare feet. She appeared much thicker built than them, too. Although Sandor knew that her leathers made her seem thicker than she was, recalling the few times he had seen her naked flesh; but she was densely muscled, the kind you get from a hard life and training, just like his own. It was also impossible to not notice the stares of fear, disgust and pity that were all directed at her—so strange to see it pointed at someone other than himself. Elyse weathered it all with indifference, although he thought that she gave the women her own pitying look at some points. It was all about perspective, he supposed.

When they had finally left the city behind them, they turned to face one another for a conflict that was inevitable. “A _slave_?” Sandor was the first to bark out, clenching a fist and shaking it just slightly at his side in emphasis. Her sarcasm was expected, as were the barbs attached to it, “Oh I'm sorry, would you like me to be _your_ slave next time? Oh wait, my face isn't the one that needs to be hidden. What the hells did you expect?” Sneering, he leaned over her partially while glaring down into her eyes from under his hood “An _escort_ perhaps, like a normal fucking Westerosi? A sworn shield... Hells, anything!” She sighed up at him, unphased by his posturing, much to his displeasure. “Better to say you're from Essos. Look, you're a huge brute with no social graces whatsoever, why don't you just leave the talking to me? We made it out of there just fine, as far as I am concerned. And you're clearly not a real slave, or you'd know when to keep your damn mouth shut.” They both seethed, glaring hard at one another until breaking away mutually and mounting their horses.

Not long after, Elyse spoke up once again as she trotted beside him. “Figured out a name for my palfrey, finally.” Giving her a strange look, Sandor rasped “I'm not sure why I should care, or you should tell me. Go ahead, but if it's Flower or Princess...” He frowned over at her as she smirked “I have teats and a cunt, that is about all I have in common with women, Digger. You'll not see me giving such a shitty name to anything. No, this is Faceless.” Her grin suggested something was funny, but Sandor wasn't getting it. “Faceless? A queer name, but who am I to judge.” As she looked away and continued grinning he muttered “You also have one more thing in common with women.” Quirking a brow, she looked back at him curiously “Oh? Do tell.” “You're annoying.” “How droll.”

Even on their way back past King's Landing there was no people fleeing from it, but neither spoke on it. There was no more fire on the horizon, and if the smoke came their way it was faint, whatever was going on inside that city would be seen later. They did, however, encounter both commoners and men-at-arms fleeing the Kingswood. The Dragon Queen and The Golden Company were not inspiring people to come running and join their cause, it seemed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Company's inexorable march towards King's Landing continues. Sandor and Elyse have a special guest.

The Golden Company had moved quickly in their absence. They had been greeted at arrow and sword point just north of the fork in the Kingsroad. Some recognized Elyse right away, but Sandor observed her making an odd gesture with her hand before they were given leave to move forwards and greet the host. "What was that you did with your hand?" He muttered once out of hearing range of the blockade, "Best you remember that sign, Digger. You use that when you need to rejoin the host, and they'll know you're a Bloody Raven for true. Wont let you in even if they know who you are, either. Learned that one the hard way back on Essos—Edgur failed to mention it to me, by accident I am sure." Sandor snorted "If he spent half as much time learning how to be a real commander as he has trying to bury you, he'd actually be good." Elyse laughed heartily in response, "But then I wouldn't be half as good as I am!" both were looking forward to hot meals again and their tents at night.

Debriefing was long and tedious, and they relayed all that they heard and saw at length until there was no more questions to be asked and words to be said. The news of King's Landing was disturbing, but the Dragon Queen had also seen it on fire at a distance so it was not all new information. "This news of Cercei having taken King Tommen back to Casterly Rock... The Dragon Queen will want to hear of this." One of the commanders remarked as Elyse and Sandor left the tent side by side. Elyse paused and took a long breath before rolling her shoulders and proclaiming "I'm going to sleep. Be seeing you, Digger." Sandor grunted in response and went on his own way, thinking hard.

In the morning Sandor flagged down men one by one until he managed to figure out where Elyse went, which lead him to a copse of old redwoods looming at the edge of the host. He first saw a familiar rope dangling from a thick branch high overhead, reaching down to the ground with coil to spare. His ruined face twitched as he craned his head back and scanned the trees for her. Rough scrabbling announced her arrival as she appeared overhead, standing on the branch her rope was tied to and looking down at him with a brow quirked. "Something you want, Digger?" Sandor had given this much thought throughout the night, sleepless and annoyed. "Aye, come down Elyse. I have words for you.." his lips tightened into a twitching line as she interrupted him cheerfully "Can't hear you, Digger. Best climb up and tell me! Don't fret, this old branch wont give way to you. Or are you not strong enough?"

No man would stand for a woman questioning his strength like that, and Sandor was a man through and through. He glared up at her and grasped the rope, planting a foot against the tree and beginning his climb. Her bare feet tapped against the tree impatiently as she watched him climb, slow but steady. When his hand finally clenched around the branch she danced away to another one, giving way to him so that he might bring himself up on to it. "Seven hells," he rasped "my feet belong on the ground or no higher than a horse." She was grinning as he sat on the branch and curled his arm around the trunk of the tree for extra stability, glaring at her. "You'll live, Digger. There are no ears up here, either. What have you come to say?" He regarded her evenly then, as he steadied his breath and adjusted his position. "There's no point hiding now, Elyse. Best just call me Sandor or Clegane from now on and get it over with. Westeros will know I'm here sooner than later anyways, I'd rather be known with a war host around me."

Sitting down across from him a ways out onto her own branch, she crossed her ankles and swayed slightly, quirking her brow at him thoughtfully. "Alright, Sandor it is. Seems this is a fine enough time and place to continue our previous discussion, about Cercei and the like.." For once, Sandor was the one to cut her off "Not yet, there's also something else I wanted to tell you." "Oh?" She leaned towards him and he grit his teeth, it looked like she was about to fall off the damn branch. "What do you know about house Clegane, if anything?" "Nothing, but I'm interested now." Sandor steeled himself, ready for her reaction. "I think my brother was the one who killed your village. Gregor Clegane." Her eyes seemed to dim, getting a distant look as she nodded slowly "And?" "He used to have a select group of men for his companions, nasty lot. Wouldn't surprise me if one of them was the one that cleaved your face, you wouldn't have lived if Gregor did." her lips were pursed into a thin line as he continued "When I had one of the Stark girls with me—little she-wolf Arya, we found Gregor's men in an inn and killed them. That is where I got this from" he patted his scarred leg. "Thought you might like to know that." Silence stretched between them as she looked away from him and stared off into the forest, clearly lost in her own memories. Slowly, her eyes refocused and looked back at him "I never actually thought that there would be justice for what happened, you know? Never once allowed myself to think that they would get what they deserved." her lips slowly curled into a cruel smile then. "Maybe you didn't get the one that hit me, but it's no matter. If your brother and his men were the ones that killed my village, then some measure of justice has been served all the same. You have my thanks for telling me. But your brother, I would know more of him now that you've made mention."

Sandor was prepared for this, ready to tell her, but it didn't stop him from clenching his fists until the bark beneath his hands crumpled. "Aye. Gregor Clegane, my brother, most call him The Mountain. Always made me look like a small man, the few times we came to stand before one another." Elyse quirked a brow, trying to imagine the size of him no doubt "He was a monster and kept other monsters as his men. Raping, pillaging, torture, he was known well for all of these misdeeds, but was the Lannister's favorite pet all the same." He turned to press his back against the trunk of the tree and hold himself in place with his legs, looking up at the sky through the canopy above as he spoke, "He was killed by some Dornish prince, Oberyn I believe, with a poisoned spear in a trial by combat over the freedom of the Imp—Tyrion Lannister. Killed the prince of course, and died screaming from the poison, I heard." He grit his teeth then, angry at the injustice of it all still, clenching the branch he sat on harder "But he's back! Something happened, and now he is Ser Robert Strong. There's not a man in Westeros, or Essos, that is as big as my brother. And now he's some black magic beast that follows Cercei around." His gaze shifted to Elyse again, watching as realization dawned and was quickly replaced by a calculating look. Shifting to a crouch on the branch, he marveled at how even her toes curled to grip at it and keep her in place easily "Listen, Sandor, you'll get your revenge. You've waited years by the sound of it, be patient and it will come. The Dragon Queen wont leave King Tommen under Cercei's thumb, Casterly Rock will fall and you can bet the Bloody Ravens will be there." It was sympathetic, but a warning all the same, Sandor did not fail to hear it.

"Aye, the time will come." They both nodded in agreement. Elyse was about to say something when an alarming _crack_ came from Sandor's branch. Sandor watched as she gaped in surprise, both he and the branch hurling towards the ground. _Well this is it. The Hound is about to die from falling out of a tree chasing after a bitch_. If the fall didn't kill him, the irony was going to. Without warning, Elyse launched herself from her own branch straight after him. It was in the following moments of his descent that he truly saw the kind of dexterity, and bravery, she possessed. He reached towards her as she hurtled towards him and reached past his outstretched hand to catch his arm, clenching each other's forearms for all they were worth. A moment later his fateful fall jerked to a brutal stop, both him and Elyse slamming into the trunk of the tree and having their breath knocked out of them. His eyes had closed after grasping her arm, but sprang open as he sucked in a breath, looking up to see Elyse with her legs clenched around the trunk of the tree and shaking from the effort.

Sucking in a huge breath, she whispered frantically "Grab a branch, any, fast!" She thought her arm might have been ripped out after stopping his rapid fall, but the throbbing reminded her that it was attached and they were both alive, which left her thankful. Her face was hard against the trunk of the tree and she was glaring at him, silently begging for his haste. Recovering from his stunned surprise, Sandor reached around with his free arm and managed to take hold of a branch and rest his foot on another so that he could relieve Elyse of his weight and relax his grip on her forearm. Breathing shallowly, Elyse whispered "You're fine now, climb down." Sandor didn't have to be told twice, and made his way down as fast as he could until his feet touched earth again. His relief was palpable, but he looked up and watched her make her own way down, just in case.

It was a queer sight, Elyse sliding down the tree face first until she could grasp a small branch and swing back into an upright position. From there, she slowly navigated her way down until her feet hit the ground, leaving her hunched in front of Sandor and breathing shallowly, still coming down from the rush of such an intense few moments. Both of them took some time to catch their breath, Sandor planting his hand on the tree trunk and leaning over Elyse as he steadied his breathing while she went from crouching to sitting, staring at the ground. Sandor was the first to let out a small chuckle, Elyse looking up at him wide-eyed for a moment before her lips curled into a broad grin and she couldn't help but start chuckling along. They had quickly descended into howling laughter until the sharp sound of a man clearing his throat nearby squashed their mirth instantly, both of them on their feet and looking towards the source. Each fell to a knee quickly, Elyse breathing "Your grace!" in surprise while Sandor lowered his head respectfully before looking at the Dragon Queen and Ser Barristan Selmy at her side.

"Sandor Clegane?" Ser Barristan intoned, incredulous. Sandor was not wearing his cloak and his features were plain to see, but he nodded in response and kept silent. Queen Daenerys was an ethereal beauty like all true Targaryens, and gestured for them to rise while intoning in her smooth voice "Please rise and be at ease. I saw your fall and am glad you are both well." her lips curled into a smile of mirth "However, I sought you out to speak of a few things I'd rather hear from yourselves than my commanders. Ser Barristan, you know this man?" She looked towards Ser Barristan then, who had rested his hand on his sword hilt and looked grim "Yes, your grace. He is the Lannisters loyal dog, known as The Hound. He took my place in the Kingsguard when I was removed from it." Sandor snorted "Aye, Joffrey was not known for being intelligent." Elyse came to stand beside Sandor as they spoke, listening to the two men speaking curiously, much like Daenerys was.

"You did not deserve the honor of serving in the Kingsguard." "I never wanted it." "You're a murderer and your brother killed Prince Aegon and raped Princess Elia!" "I did as my king bid and my brother is not me." They seemed poised to continue their escalating conflict but Daenerys cut in sharply "Enough!" Both men fell silent. "This is not what we are here to discuss. However, I will not judge this man by the sins of his brother, but by his actions under my service. Is that clear, Ser Barristan?" Sobered, Ser Barristan relaxed his stance and lowered his hand from the hilt of his sword "Yes, Khaleesi." Returning her striking purple gaze to Sandor and Elyse, she continued briskly "This place is secluded enough to suit our purposes, please tell me what you know of the current state of King's Landing and where the young King Tommen was spirited off to." Elyse jumped in quickly "Of course Your Grace." Just like the debriefing, they once again went through their journey and what information they found out. Elyse let Sandor do most of the talking as it was clear Daenerys was more focused on him.

By the time they were finished, they had sat in the grass as the Queen bade them while Ser Barristan stood guard. The Queen had folded her hands in her lap and looked very demure, despite sitting on the dirt with her lessers. "Ser Barristan said that you served the Lannisters, for how long?" Sandor rasped while rubbing at his sore leg "Almost my entire life. I was Cercei's sworn shield and then Joffrey after her." "Then it is safe to say, you know the Lannisters. Possibly better than the Lannisters know themselves." "Aye, you could say that." she pursed her lips in thought before continuing "Tell me of Cercei's children. I know enough about her already." This was an easy line of questioning as far as Sandor was concerned, and he gave his stubble a brief scratch as he spoke "Joffrey was a sadistic monster. Only got worse when Robert died and he was made King, when he realized there was no one who could say no to him anymore. He was betrothed to a Stark, and when the North rebelled after he chopped off Ned Stark's head, he had the girl beaten and humiliated publicly every time her brother won a battle against him, among other things." Daenerys' eyes had sharpened, focusing intensely on what Sandor had to say, her displeasure clear. Snorting, he shook his head "Noble Kingsguard we were. Beating little girls." Ser Barristan echoed his displeased noise, but remained quiet otherwise.

"Myrcella and Tommen were different though. Sweet children, like they should be. Myrcella was sent to Dorn the day of the bread riots, I imagine she is still there. Tommen though, he was kept in King's Landing. Boy didn't have an evil bone in his body, loved kittens and things, Joffrey bullied him." he shrugged "Not much else to say about them, really." There was a brief pause before Daenerys gathered herself, nodding at Sandor and Elyse "You have my thanks. I believe you will be seeing me again in the near future, Sandor Clegane." She rose to her feet gracefully and they followed suit, both stiff from their tumble down the tree. They did not follow when the Queen and Ser Barristan left, returning to their pavilion in the host.

"I had not thought that I would ever get to exchange words with her, only see her from afar. She's something, isn't she?" Elyse commented, resting her hands on her hips and standing beside him so close her elbows almost touched him. She did not notice how he was gazing at her, however, when he muttered "Aye, something special."


	16. Chapter 16

With the Bloody Ravens back in with the bulk of the Golden Company, all there was to do was join the inexorable march towards King's Landing. Elyse was riding her palfrey, Faceless, and keeping near Sandor as he rode Stranger. It was interesting watching him, easily topping the height of the other mounted men around him; he appeared transformed, gone was the hunched and hooded Digger, replaced by the tall scarred warrior. She decided it was a good change, although she had liked having him to herself, her secret.

Sandor sidled up beside Elyse on his palfrey, sweat beading on his brow as the sun all but cooked him in his armor. The weather had been more than fair, unseasonal even, and he figured the Golden Company would be thankful of it, Elyse sure was. “There is a group of men I'd like to know more about.” Elyse perked up and looked at him, curious “Oh? There are many different groups amongst the Golden Company, but the Dragon Queen has other followers that are in this host as well. I'll tell you what I know.” Sandor's brow was furrowed as he thought over what he had seen, staring ahead “The ones that all look the same, carrying spears, shields and the like. They dig entrenchments every night and train every morning before we march. Who are they?” Elyse responded enthusiastically, apparently it was a subject of interest for her “Those are the Unsullied. Every one of them is a Eunuch, and they are the most disciplined soldiers ever created. If the Dragon Queen ordered them to kill every man in King's Landing, they would do it, and not a female would be touched, believe it. You can even command them to fall upon their swords and they will without hesitation, if you're their owner.”

“They are the Dragon Queens slave army?” Sandor was not sure what to think of it, other than to be apprehensive, Westeros did not take kindly to slavery. “No, the Dragon Queen does not keep slaves. I heard she actually freed the Unsullied soon after purchasing them, but they all serve her willingly. I don't know how much you know about her, but she has blazed quite a path through Essos, despite her age.” His ruined flesh twitched as he glanced towards her; sure enough there seemed to be a far away look of admiration etched into her features, he chose not to comment on it.

On the day that the Dragon Queen's forces arrived to spread out before King's Landing, not a soul could be seen on the walls, and all the gates had been closed tight. Only the atop Drogon could Daenerys see the ruins within, and what life that remained. Word had quickly spread about the charred bodies in the thousands, and the unburned bodies of those who tried to approach the Red Keep filled with arrows, smashed with rocks, burned with oil. The biggest news of all was that the Red Keep itself was alive and fully garrisoned, no doubt by the gold cloaks and Mace Tyrell's men.

“Ominous.” Elyse commented in a muffled tone, having fastened her blood stained cloth over her mouth and nose to guard against the stench, as they trotted through the River Gate, Sandor having told her it's name. The Unsullied had been sent early that morning to secure the gates and safe passage into the dead city, there had only been a few starving gold cloaks defending each gate, just enough to feather any of the citizens that tried to escape, as evidenced by the decomposing bodies heaped near each gate. “Aye, to see King's Landing become a silent graveyard... Never thought I'd see the day.” Sandor looked pale, and not a few men had been reduced to retching on the cobblestones from the combined stench of death and char that no wind could clear out.

The Bloody Ravens made camp half way between the Gate of the Gods and River Gate that night, and it would be their outpost for the remainder of their stay in King's Landing. The rest of Daenerys' vast host spread throughout the city, and collectively made an effort to remove the dead. The Red Keep did not stir, and some wondered what Daenerys was planning, that she had not burned it down with the dragons by now; there was much speculation to be had on the topic, and many felt there would be a reckoning. Much of the space outside of King's Landing had become mass graves, and it had taken over a week of solid effort to remove the bulk of the corpses from the city, but the stench of death was no longer so prevalent and the relief of the host was palpable. 

Finally, there had been word from Edgur that the Ravens would be seeing use soon. Sandor was sitting on an upturned bucket in front of a small fire, covered in soot as black as his hair, with rivers of sweat having carved paths down his face and arms. Across from him Elyse did not fair much better, her long mane of hair stained black and a comical square of mostly clean flesh across her face where she had wrapped the cloth to cover her nose and mouth. “Don't count on sleep tonight, there's a reckoning to be had.” Her lips curled into a cruel smile, eyes glittering with the reflection of their meager fire. “It's time then. Best stick near me if you don't want to get lost when we're in there, wench.” “I expect the guided tour.” “You'll have it.” Finishing stuffing her face with bread, Elyse stood up and gave her leggings a futile pat, she grinned and murmured “I'll be back.” before striding off purposefully. Sandor frowned, thinking on the times Elyse had surprised him in the past and not much liking the idea of being surprised again.

His suspicion deepened when an Unsullied came to collect him in the early evening “Her Grace requests your presence.” Frowning, he had followed and taken the opportunity to get a good look at one of these famous slave soldiers and found the mechanical movements unnatural. When he discovered they were walking to the Dragonpit, he became apprehensive, nervous even. Sandor Clegane was not a man who often felt these emotions, but creatures that spit fire were not bloody natural, and his aversion to fire in the first place was well-founded. The massive bronze doors of the building had been pried wide open, and the ruins inside of the once domed building well cleared to house Daenerys and her dragons. He breathed “Gods.” when he saw the three massive beasts at rest up against the far walls, coiled and glaring. It was a small relief when he was brought to Daenerys' pavilion and was finally out of the sight of the beasts.

Elyse was standing a respectful distance away from Daenerys, who he knelt before as was proper before rising, and found himself subject to their scrutiny, eyes both oddly colored in the torch light. “Sandor Clegane, welcome.” Daenerys was the first to speak, and he nodded stiffly in response. His discomfort was easily picked up on, and her voice took on a more placating tone “My apologies for the dragons, I normally keep them well away from my men. However, they are to play a part in this discussion.” A trickle of fear went down his spine as he listened, nodding numbly. “There is to be no moon tonight, and although I had originally only intended to make Elyse a part of this plan, she enthusiastically insisted on your inclusion. However, I will tell it true to you as I told true to her, you have every right to decline this mission and no ill will come of you should you choose to do such.” She paused briefly, catching and holding his hard gray stare “But, hear the plan out first, if it please you.” Sandor rasped warily, “Aye, I'll hear it out.” while nodding.

The plan she and Elyse laid out made his insides curl, but he schooled his features and kept his back ramrod straight, his voice rasping low as they finished “You want me to be carried by a dragon, drop into the Red Keep, which probably has thousands of soldiers inside of it, and help secure a wall so that the rest of the Ravens can scale it.” His voice was flat and dull, fear had settled into his guts. But one look towards Elyse, who as far as he could tell looked confident and damnably cheerful, and all he could do was nod “Lets get on with it then.” Both women smiled at him knowingly.

Falling in to step behind Elyse and Daenerys, he loomed over them like a gloomy mountain, eyes immediately landing on the vague shape of the black dragon the Queen favored. Even Elyse began to look uneasy as they slowly closed the distance, Daenerys remaining cool and confident- they were her children, after all. “You have nothing to fear from Drogon this night, I promise you. I will be there guiding him myself.” They both nodded behind her, looking at one another and affirming that neither of them truly believed that. Elyse piped up, hefting the coil of rope that she had carried the whole time, Sandor had only just noticed it “He will tolerate the rope?” “Yes.” Daenerys answered without hesitation as she beckoned the huge black dragon. Both Sandor and Elyse took a nervous breath and a solid step backwards as smoldering red eyes blazed at them, and the black strode forwards across the rubble-strewn ground, eating up the space between him and the Queen at a frightful pace; they could feel the ground shake beneath them at the weight of the great beast.

It was a sight to behold when Daenerys stood dwarfed beside the lowered head of Drogon, stroking his scales and red spines tenderly as she exchanged words in high valyrian. Neither of them understood the language, so they were left in the dark. “Hand me the rope, Elyse.” After a moment of hesitation, Elyse unslung the rope from her shoulder and slunk forwards to hand it to Daenerys, whos small body bowed in surprise at the weight of it. “You're a strong woman, it is admirable.” she smiled brilliantly then, gesturing for Elyse to not draw back. “We will be leaving as soon as I fasten this to him, come here as well, Sandor.” Taking a long breath, Sandor stared into the eye of Drogon as he strode over, breathing out as he came to stand beside Elyse “Gods.”

Drogon lifted his massive foot enough for Daenerys to tie a sturdy knot around his scaled toe, afterwords she straightened up and beckoned them both over until they were cloaked in the wingspan of the beast, could feel the heat radiating from its skin like an endless furnace. “You will sit atop either foot and hold on to his leg, he flies very smoothly so don't fear being jarred. Lets be done with this business.” Her voice grew cold, and there could be no doubt that there was nothing but retribution awaiting those who cowered within the walls of the Red Keep.

Nodding briskly, Elyse chose to cling to the leg that no rope was bound to, giving Sandor the security of knowing he could grab for it should he slip; he did not wonder at how she was going to get down the rope, not after her acrobatic display in the Kingswood. Drogon was eerily silent as they found themselves clinging to his front legs, even Sandor looked like a small toy atop the spiny foot. But if they looked small, Daenerys in all her radiance looked like a babe when she came to sit between the spines at the base of Drogon's neck. Breathing heavily, Sandor couldn't help but cry out and cling to the dragon and the coil of rope with all his strength as they hurled into the air in one great leap. The destruction of the city and the world around them were thrown into a whole new light when the great shadowy dragon flew above it, circling high above the Red Keep and descending in lazy circles, utterly silent. Wind whipped his face like spears of ice, but the dragon's flesh was hot enough to make him want to recoil, if there was anywhere else to withdraw to.

All too soon the walls of the Keep were rising up to meet them and he saw the lights of sentries flitting like candles, completely unaware of what bore down upon them. Drawing a steadying breath, he let the rope drop and prayed for Daenerys and her beast to have good aim. As the rope fell, Elyse leaped from the curled paw of the beast and lunged into the rope, sliding down it with precision all while Drogon continued to circle, getting ever closer. Guts clenching like steel, Sandor watched as she swung through the air freely below them, dangling by her left hand as she withdrew her dagger with the right. One lonely torch flickered on a stretch of wall and Daenerys steered Drogon towards it, the speed at which they were traveling felt far too fast to safely fall, in Sandor's opinion.

He was only able to see Elyse go hurtling through the air towards the lone sentry, the dragon swishing back into the sky before he was able to witness the result. His own time had come, and with no small amount of trepidation he tentatively reached out to grasp the rope around Drogon's foot, slipping off and sliding down into the dark of night with his heart in his throat. His nerves almost failed on the final descent, but seeing the guttering torch lifted back into position by the barely illuminated Elyse heartened him; and before he knew it he had let go of the rope and landed gracelessly beside her, almost careening over the edge of the wall. Quick to react, Elyse reached out and cut the rope with her dagger in one swift chop, catching it with her free hand and looking at Sandor as he reeled to his feet. Pausing to look at one another in the flickering light of the torch, she grinned, looking whole with her maimed cheek shrouded in shadow; the twisted scars of his own face only looked all the deeper and twisted by the shadows each slick ridge of scar tissue cast.

The serene moment broke when Elyse held the torch out to him “Take it, quickly now, don't know when the patrol is coming.” Curling his fist around it as she let go, he took up position on the wall and pretended to be the sentry while she looped the rope around a crenelation, knotting it securely and tossing it over the side of the wall. Distractedly he muttered “That is not nearly long enough,” she interjected quickly “Don't trouble yourself over it, keep watch.” The door of the far end of their ramp opened a crack, light and sound pouring out of it before opening wide to admit the sentry and then slamming shut afterwords. Sandor stiffened then, he wasn't wearing the kind of garb these men would, but he was just a silhouette for the time being; and clearly Elyse had gone somewhere if the man was not calling out in alarm yet.

Whoever the unfortunate soul was, he walked along the pathway calmly after a brief pause to take Sandors measure from afar. Tense as a bowstring he waited, listening to the scuffing of the man's leather boots drawing closer, until he paused and called out in a cautious tone “Why are you looking in at the Red Keep, you dolt? You're not going to find any enemies in the damned court yard” Smirking, Sandor rasped ominously “Might be I already have, you twat.” The man's confused tone was cut short by a gurgle as blood spilled into his lungs “What-grrk” Looking off to the other door that had yet to be opened, Sandor murmured nonchalantly “Took you long enough, wench.”

Carelessly tossing the corpse off the wall, Elyse rolled her eyes “You looked like you were going to soil yourself when you fell out of that tree, can't imagine the look on your face if you dangled on the wall of the Red Keep.” Biting his tongue, he didn't rise to the bait. Soon, the sound of someone shimmying up the rope could be heard, and one of their Raven brothers hopped up over the crenelation, giving them a thumbs up silently. Briskly, Elyse snagged the torch from Sandor, who had the good grace to look confused, and handed it to their new companion. “They will be fine from here on out and secure the gate themselves, all seven hells are about to break loose. Now, about that guided tour...” “Aye, welcome to the Red Keep.”


	17. Chapter 17

Together they entered the nearest postern door and made their way down to the ground, killing the few unfortunates that happened to be resting in the tower. Elyse following Sandor silently as he guided her through the Keep; it was a queer feeling to be roaming its halls and going unnoticed again, just like old times. But now there were new masters, new goals, and he smiled grimly at the thought of what lay ahead this night. Daenerys had given specific orders for the nobility to not be killed, only detained; and Sandor knew exactly where all those peacocks and hens would run the moment the alarm was raised, it was just a matter of getting there first.

Dipping into shadowy servant passages and underused corridors made it all feel absurdly easy, considering they were in the enemy territory as deep as possible. They only had to hide in an empty chamber once; a solitary guard calling after them, only having seen the tail end of Elyse' braid flicking into the room before the door shut. Shoving Sandor behind the door hard, she launched into the fine bed and covered herself before the door swung back open cautiously, the guard stepping in to peer at the braided hair jutting out of the disturbed blankets. "My lady?" A soft chuckle escaped her then, and she murmured sinisterly "No, I'm far too ugly to be a lady." As she spoke, the sound of Sandor's dagger driving through the man's throat and up into his skull from below punctuated her sentence with a sharp crunch. Sighing demurely as though nothing had happened, she patted the blankets with a lover's caress as she sat up "What I wouldn't give for a bed like this."

Soon they were striding across a dark courtyard purposefully. With Elyse obscured completely behind Sandor's bulk, it made it very easy to step around him and neatly launch her dagger into the chest of one solitary man who was guarding the drawbridge in front of an old keep, Maegor's Holdfast, Sandor had whispered to her. Pulling the knife from his chest and tossing his corpse into the spiked pit below, she frowned at the brief clattering noise, but Sandor was already striding through the drawbridge gate and she ran briefly to catch up; just in time to see him neatly silence one man at sword point and crush the windpipe of a second in his fist. Still holding the throat of the one who was suffocating to death and flailing, Sandor gestured for Elyse to pick up the corpse of the first and carried his quarry behind a well manicured hedge, stuffing the now twitching corpse out of sight while Elyse dragged the other over top it. During their pause, they both looked around for a second before eyeing each other "We'll replace these two rats at the entrance for now, keep your face out of sight." Sandor muttered, to which Elyse nodded.

Elyse stole the helmet off one of the men and together they took up the position of the former guards. Unfortunately Sandor's head was too large for a helmet, but he was able to keep more in the dark than she was, the torch near him having guttered out and leaving him just a looming shadow. Fortune favored them, it seemed, because no sooner than they had stepped into place the alarm had risen—the siege had begun. A great rush of action buzzed through the Red Keep, and soon there were noblemen, women and their children being ushered across the drawbridge by their guards and into Maegor's, as Sandor knew there would be. Elyse could not help but smile slightly, their fear was palpable as they tried to reassure one another, as if this keep could keep them away from dragon's fire if the Queen wanted them dead.

Sandor had a small double-take when he thought he saw a familiar slender man of short stature mingling with the nobles as they trailed off into the keep. Creaking noisily, the drawbridge was raised once all of the 'precious cargo' had been loaded, slamming into place with a note of finality. Sandor and Elyse shared a predators grin between one another, like foxes who got into the hen house. Falling into step behind Sandor after discarding her helmet, Elyse murmured "Like a bunch of bleating sheep, the lot of them. I'm glad it was never my lot in life." Smirking, Sandor rumbled "You make more sense than you even know."

Even though there were guards in Maegor's, and some of them may have been competent, none of them expected enemies already within the keep; and so it was with a frightening ease that they began killing guards, one and two at a time, and trapping the nobles in their rooms. There was several times when a woman almost managed to scream and blow their cover, but had their voices snuffed by a hand and mouths stuffed by a quickly torn strip of bed sheet, followed by hands and feet. But for the most part, one look at either Sandor or Elyse illuminated by the fireplace had sent their target into a rigid, frozen fear, or even faint; it was hard to not laugh when that happened. One particular room had a few skilled guardsmen outside of it, and Sandor bore witness to Elyse clenching her hands around one man's thick neck and crunching his windpipe like kindling. Breathing heavily from their fast and hard exertion, he peered at the door while she looked at him questioningly, but silent. He had a guess who was behind that door, but there was only one way to find out for sure. Grasping the handle of the door, he gave it a gentle push forwards, only to find that it was barred from the inside. Elyse shrugged, stepping back as he did; they had already cut a swathe through the castle, they could handle whoever came to inspect the noise.

Taking a quick sharp breath, Sandor flung his foot out and upwards, smashing the door open in one go; the man inside crying out as wooden splinters rained on him. Without missing a beat, Sandor and Elyse filed in quickly and beheld Peter Baelish, Littlefinger. Sneering, Sandor rasped "Littlefinger." Elyse was not familiar with him of course, and observed the interaction silently while keeping an eye out for interruptions. Baelish, once he recovered from the initial surprise of the door bursting open, seemed all together unsurprised to see Sandor, "Ahh Clegane, I thought I recognized that looming figure when I entered the keep... So you've new masters now, do you?" Snorting, Sandor was not surprised to see him working his silver tongue like always. "Aye, new masters. And you are interested in making a deal, slimy twat you are." Unphased, Littlefinger's eyes seemed to light up at the suggestion there may be some kind of deal to be had, the gears in his mind working rapidly. "I do have something that might be of interest to you, Clegane, about a particular... Little bird." His lips curled into a slick smile as Sandor couldn't keep from visibly stiffening in response, his glare hardening as Baelish took his shot.

"So it's true then. I admit that was one rumor I was not willing to believe, my mistake. But before I tell you, you must promise that I will be safe..." Taking a threatening step towards him, Sandor snarled "Out with it!" Peter lifted his hands in a placating gesture and took a step back, Elyse quickly interjected "You have my word that you will be safe from the Queens retribution. I am Sandor's superior, he can not make that promise to you, but I can." Petyr looked at her warily, but then nodded "Very well... She was with me, at the Eyrie, I took her from this place and kept her safe. But Cercei... I had been called back to King's Landing and was left with no choice but to take her with me. Cercei found out about her even with her hair dyed and having a well-established reputation as my bastard daughter-hurk!" Enraged, Sandor gripped the front of Littlefinger's fine shirt and lifted him, shaking him much like a dog shakes its prey "You what! You brought her back here? To _Cercei_? And made her your _bastard_?!" He nearly roared, dragging Littlefinger's face up to his own " _Where is she_?" Frantic and scrabbling at the hands that grasped him like a vice, Baelish croaked "Cercei took her, took her to Casterly Rock when she escaped with Tommen! King's Landing was closed up because of the riots and sickness by the time we found out about Tommen, and I found out about Sansa!" Disgusted, Sandor hurled him down and into the chair in front of the fireplace, walking to the bed and starting to tear up strips of bedding. Elyse strode forwards to replace where Sandor stood, quirking a brow at Baelish as he tried to recover his composure, her voice was cold and soft then "You strike me as a man that is not unfamiliar with subterfuge." Sandor's snort was sharp "He is built on lies, no less than the master of whispers himself, that damned eunuch." Her lips curled into a smile as she gazed into Littlefinger's green eyes with her own, and he gained a wary look in return "I lied." Angry and altogether unused to having a female screw him over, Baelish leaped to his feet and snarled "No! You can't do that to me! I'm Petyr Baelish, you filthy misshapen whore!" Elyse just smiled and stepped back slowly as his composure unraveled, quickly replaced by Sandor who immediately muffled Petyr's bellows of outrage and hog tied him mercilessly, leaving him squirming like a pig on the floor as they both left the room and continued their job.

The drawbridge of Maegor's Holdfast was lowered as the first gentle rays of dawn touched the horizon, admitting several scores of Unsullied to completely secure the keep; the odd pair staggering across the drawbridge, exhausted and bloody. There was still small pockets of resistance scattered across the Red Keep itself, no doubt holing up in the towers and other single-entrance rooms, but they would be crushed and were of no concern for Sandor and Elyse, their work complete. Daenerys granted them both sleep in the servant's quarters which had been secured and was under heavy guard, for which they were thankful; it was clear that she valued her lessers, and Sandor felt a seed of grudging respect towards the small Targaryen woman taking root in his conscious.

When they had finished resting, several hours of blissful sleep, they were summoned before their Queen once more. Elyse let her eyes roam the Great Hall in wonder for a short time as they strode side-by-side through the center, the hall was populated by the leaders of the golden company, the unsullied, and her close companions, all of which parted to make way for them. It all felt like old hat to Sandor, many pairs of eyes staring at him and paths being cleared; but Elyse, while used to being gazed at in any number of less than positive ways, had not been surrounded by this sheer number of important people before, and felt both nervous and outclassed despite attempting a calm facade. Together they knelt in front of the raised dais where Daenerys sat upon the Iron Throne, regal, triumphant and glowing. Her hand maiden, Missandei, spoke in a strong, clear voice "Sandor Clegane and Elyse of the Golden Company, Your Grace." They were both still disheveled, covered in flaking blood, soot and grime, but Daenerys greeted them all the same "Arise and be at ease, the both of you." Her demeanor was warm and her pleasure was evident in her voice "You have served me above and beyond the call of duty in the retaking of my birthright, and for that I thank you. It would be my pleasure to grant you what you desire if you would ask of it and it is within my power to give."

Sandor was quiet, thoughtful, while Elyse looked surprised but recovered quickly, to her credit. "Your Grace, there is nothing grand that I would ask of you; it is my truest belief that you are and will forever be a great ruler. I'd ask that I be allowed to part from the Golden Company at the time of my choosing, regardless of how much time is left on my contract, that is all." The Targaryen Queen did not bat an eyelash before she responded "Granted. And Sandor Clegane, what of you?" Taking a deep breath, Sandor rasped in a measured tone "I would ask that all crimes the people of Westeros feel I have committed be abolished, that the reputation of The Hound and the name be forgotten from here onwards. I am no longer that man." he held his breath then, waiting. Silence had filled the Great Hall, and Daenerys shifted in her seat, violet eyes taking the measure of the man before her, before speaking in a firm tone "I can do this, Sandor Clegane, but I can not change the thoughts of the people of Westeros. Your actions will have to speak for you, that you are truly The Hound no longer. You have my word as the Queen, that once all of Westeros is brought back under my rightful rule, the word shall be spread as you have requested. I have the utmost faith that you can become a just, good man." All the breath left him then, and he took a moment to gather his wits before responding "Aye, thank you Your Grace. I could not ask you to do more than that."

Smiling demurely, Daenerys dismissed them, they were but the first in a long line of people who would be granted favors for services rendered to their Queen. They did not remain in the Great Hall, opting to seek out baths for themselves and cleanse the congealed mess that was covering every inch of their persons. That evening they had joined back up once again, feasting on bread and meat prepared by the servants of the castle who had largely been spared any violence. Sandor took Elyse out into the gardens to eat, where they could enjoy a small measure of privacy and enjoy the manicured gardens that concealed the smell of death. "Sandor." Elyse mumbled around a mouthful of bread, poking some that had spilled between her teeth and threatened to fall out of her cheek back in. "What wench, I'm eating." Eating like a starved man, he had forgotten the difference in the quality of food that came from the castle, and decided that he had missed it greatly. Elyse lowered her voice slightly, careful to watch his expression "You should tell the Queen about Sansa." "No" he snapped sharply, looking at her with those eyes the color of good sword steel, to which she quirked an eyebrow and sounded confused "Explain." Growling in agitation, he had not forgotten about his little bird and her plight, but had not yet figured out what to do about it. "Questions could be raised, about me asking after her specifically. I'll not have her honor impugned because of an old dog like me." Frowning, Elyse took a few moments to chew up her meat before coming back to the topic doggedly "If that is your only reservation, I have no problems telling her myself." She paused a moment, tone lilting curious once again "Why would Cercei want Sansa Stark?"

Chewing his bread, he looked at her silently, taking her measure. Her hair, armor and skin had been scrubbed until all of it shone in the evening light; her hair was unbound, covering her shoulders like a mane as traces of wind were weaving through it, picking up pieces and coiling them like clawing fingertips. All the while she returned his heavy gaze with her own, eyes that damnable Stark gray. Letting out a frustrated grunt, he relented, she knew much already anyways. "Cercei, the crazy bitch she is, would suspect Sansa of killing her son, Joffrey, at his wedding to Margaery Tyrell. Sansa disappeared when Joffrey was killed. I was not at the Red Keep anymore when this happened, I do not know more about what happened than that. But I do know that Stark girl would not go poisoning Joffrey, I'd stake my life on that. Odds are Cercei wants to do something horrible to the girl, if she hasn't already; cruelty is her bread and butter, she would want Sansa suffering dearly before death took her, if she let it." Elyse had leaned forwards as she listened to him, grasping her knees firmly and rubbing her fingertips against them while digesting the information. Finally, she nodded and straightened "The Queen should know, Sandor. I will relay this information to her, the Queen does not take kindly to children being made to suffer to begin with, but a Stark... She could bring the entire north to Daenerys' side without a drop of blood spilled. Her life is too important to ignore." Though it rankled him, Sandor nodded slowly, conceding to her logic. But Elyse was not done, and upon standing she reached over and gave his shoulder a firm slap "And should she, for reasons unknown to me, decide that the Stark girl is not worth her aid... I swear to you that I will release myself from my Golden Company contract and seek her out on my own." His eyes widened slightly. To hear Elyse, a woman of little to no attachments, swear to such a thing to him, he felt unbalanced—caught off guard. Elyse did not give him a chance to respond, striding away swiftly "I'll seek you out when I am done."

"Ser Barristan, if you've but a moment to spare..." "Elyse? I am on my way to her Grace, we could speak as I walk, if it please you." Elyse had managed to find Ser Barristan leaving the modest servants dining quarters, matching his stride as they walked. "That would be grand. It is her Grace that I wish to speak of, actually." His gaze sharpened some, keeping a bead on her expressions as he spoke in a more neutral tone. "I would not speak ill of my Queen, if that is what you're looking for." Shaking her head, Elyse muttered "No, no. But there is a matter that I believe concerns the Queen personally. Information that I have come upon just recently, that she would no doubt prefer to hear with only trusted ears in range." There was a break in their conversation as they climbed a narrow staircase, unable to walk side-by-side until reaching the top. Falling back in to step beside him, she listened as he responded neutrally "I see. I will inform her Grace of this when we reach her, and should it please her you shall be heard." Nodding, feeling that her case was all but won, she intoned warmly "That is all I could ask for, thank you Ser." The rest of their trip was silent but for the tapping of her bare feet on the cold stone floor and the clinking of his Queensguard armor. In time, she was left to stand outside of a fine door, awaiting the Queen's response; it came quickly, and she was beckoned inside of a room full of all the things she imagined highborn ladies delighted in. Silks, fruit trays, a flower-wreathed window with the sun pouring in and a bed that Elyse imagined felt like a cloud, all were here for the Queens comfort. Daenerys was sitting demurely at a table in front of the window, her fine hair floating around her in the breeze that rolled in; she beckoned Elyse to sit across from her and she could not disguise her curious tone if she had tried "Elyse. Ser Barristan tells me you have information that I would be better off hearing in good company?" Seating herself, Elyse knew her manner was uncouth and felt it acutely when compared to Daenerys, but she plowed on anyways, for the sake of a tentative friendship with a scarred man. Turning her head slightly to spare Daenerys her opened cheek, she nodded, "Last night, when Sandor Clegane and I were securing the nobles in Maegor's Holdfast, we came upon a man who had information about Sansa Stark." she paused as Daenerys looked for Ser Barristan for clarification and he supplied it "The Starks were the wardens of the north and joined with Robert Baratheon when he rebelled against his king. The north has strong ties to the Starks, however..." nodding sharply, Elyse interjected "I don't know much about the Starks myself, my Queen, but I do know that they could be key to reclaiming the north without bloodshed." She had spoken out of turn and caught the look of disapproval Ser Barristan shot her, but kept her gaze on Daenerys and watched as she ruminated on the information.

Finally, Daenerys nodded "You were right to bring this information to me, I do not wish the blood of innocents shed in the retaking of my kingdom. Please continue." Nodding with renewed confidence, Elyse continued "My pleasure. Sansa Stark was disguised as the bastard of Petyr Baelish, hidden away in the Eyrie, but when Baelish returned to King's Landing she was outed by Cercei. She then stole away with Tommen, as you know, but also with Sansa Stark. That, I believe, is knowledge only she and Petyr had, until now." She paused, waiting. Daenerys sat straight in her chair, nibbling on a piece of fruit as she contemplated the information presented. Cleaning her fingers on a piece of cloth, she finally responded "Understand that now that I am in King's Landing, I must oversee it's reconstruction and take care of the new duties bestowed upon me as the Queen. This means my resources are very limited, as I am also at war until the seven kingdoms have knelt to me. Am I to understand that you would seek to free Sansa Stark yourself?" Nodding briefly, Elyse kept her tone neutral "Yes, Your Grace. While I am unfamiliar with rescuing people, this is the kind of work that I do, and would be glad to." pausing for a moment, she cautiously continued "However, I would request that Sandor Clegane join me. We are a team and he knows the country, the Lannisters, and Casterly Rock."

Daenerys' violet gaze penetrated her, held her in place and all at once questioned her intent, skill, worthiness. Elyse kept still and returned the gaze, unshaken. Her integrity had been questioned her entire life, she would not slip now. "What is your last name, Elyse?" The question was not expected, but she answered without pause "I do not know, Your Grace. I had never heard it when I was young, when I was still with my family, might be I'm a bastard." nodding slightly, Daenerys continued "I do not question your skill, or bravery, not after last night. But the things I have been told about you, I would know what is true and what is not." Of course she would have her past looked into, anyone who got close to the Queen was subject to probing questions, it was the wise thing to do. Popping a piece of fruit in her mouth and swallowing it after being gestured to help herself, she cleared her throat and spoke in a low tone "Have not heard what the men say about me lately, but last I listened to them, most all of it is true." A fine frown bent the corners of Daenerys' lips, and she shared a brief look with Ser Barristan "Women, children, the unarmed, dead at your hands... Rape, lying, stealing, murder." As she named out Elyse's sins, her tone shifted from questioning to accusatory, daring her to accept that she had done all of the above. There was no pause when she stared Daenerys in the eye and responded with the surety of the damned "Yes. All of it." Threading her fingers together, she rested them in her lap and watched the display of emotions bloom across Daenerys' face like a play; fury, disgust, rage, pity, finally settling on a cold neutrality. "I see." Taking an even breath, Daenerys steeled herself "Sandor Clegane wanted to shed his reputation as an evil man, he wants to be better than he was. What of you? Your sins are beyond counting, and I am of a mind to punish you for them. You could have gone the same way Clegane did, but you do not seem remorseful. What am I to make of that?"

Elyse sat there then, thoughtful for a time as she was glared at by the other occupants of the room. "The world does not want kind, good hearted mercenaries, Your Grace. Where others become known for their skills with weapons and command, I am shunned for being a woman—automatically assumed that I have no capabilities with either. And so, I've sewn the only reputation left to have for one such as myself. Murderer. Killer." Blunt, honest, there was no point mincing her words now. Daenerys looked sick, her complexion paling and her voice softened "There is no place for murderers, killers and rapists in my kingdom, or my army, Elyse. I will not pretend to know what you have gone through to fit into the world of men, but know this: If I send you on this mission to save Sansa Stark, and you succeed, you will start anew with your reputation. You will become a great warrior known for your skills with weapons and command, or you will burn." Her voice had hardened into a hiss by the time she had finished, and Elyse recalled the burning eyes of Drogon; it was enough to make her pale.

Sandor started when an empty pack collided with his back, looking sharply towards the offender as he subtly put away the ribbon he had been caressing with his calloused, thick fingertips. "Hopefully you'll pack something more useful than a strip of cloth, you love-sick Aurochs."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Elyse begin their trek while Sansa languishes under Cersei's ministrations at Casterly Rock.

They packed that night, but slept until morning and broke their fast in the servant's quarters. It was a surprise to see merchants and supplicants already trickling in to King's Landing, brave or desperate men and women who made their way to the capital when they heard of the Dragon Queen laying siege to it. Having collected their horses from the Bloody Ravens encampment, each heavy with food and equipment for their journey, the Gate of the Gods loomed high before them; they would make their way down the Gold Road, as planned.

It did not escape their notice when Edgur sat upon his horse beside the gates, glaring at them silently. Cheerfully, Elyse called out to him “Edgur! So glad you took the time to see us off. There is something I'd say to you before I likely die.” His face twisted in confusion, to which she smiled, coming to a stop beside him “By the blessing of her Grace, I relieve myself of The Golden Company from this moment onwards.” she saluted sharply with her middle finger “Go fuck yourself.” Sandor's rasping laughter echoed across the stones as they passed them together, mixing with the snarling, indignant voice of Edgur.

With hundreds of miles of road between themselves and Casterly Rock, Elyse decided to dig in to conversation while it was still relatively safe. “Have you thought about how we are going to actually get her out of there?” His ruined face twitched in agitation, she was a quiet companion more often than not though, which he could appreciate. “The Rock has never fallen, and no doubt strongly garrisoned with all the remaining Lannisters hiding inside of it.” Gripping Stranger's reins tightly, his voice rasped grimly. Little Bird, I don't know how to save you. He thought, staring down the road gloomily. “Ah, we will think of something. There are many miles between here and there, plenty of time to think on it.” “Aye, and when we get to Lannister territory, plenty of other things to worry about between ourselves and that gods-forsaken fortress.” Sandor's grim thoughts kept him company in the days to come, interrupted only when Elyse had something to say or a prudent question to ask. He'd responded churlishly each time, much like how he had dealt with her during their first mission together, but she did not seem to be off-put by it; it was doubtful she understood the kind of emotion that he felt towards his little bird, but she was an observant woman, picking up on his building anxiety and not taking it to heart.

There was not even a trickle of smallfolk traveling towards King's Landing down the Gold Road. Between fear of the Dragon Queen's army, how the Lannisters traditionally deal with traitors and word not yet spread about Daenerys' victorious siege; Sandor doubted there would be anyone for a long time yet, even when they passed over the first tine of the Blackwater Rush. That very night, with a dreary overcast sky and the cold wind slicing through their clothing, Elyse tossed a stick onto their meager fire and all but leaned into his curled up leg, her own legs drawn tight to her chest. He had gotten used to her invading his space, especially when she was cold, and he did not react to the motion but simply kept picking under his nails with his knife, hands resting atop his knees. “Sandor.” She murmured in her familiar husky voice “What.” He rasped, frowning. “What will you do, when you save her?”

The soft scrape scrape of his blade pulling dirt from under his nails stopped as he clenched his fist tightly, half a mind to shove her away. But he relented, muttering defensively “Keep her safe.” She straightened back into a sitting position, stretching her legs forwards and heating her feet while resting her hands flat on either side of her. Turning her head to look towards him then, her eyes glimmered and her cleaved cheek twisted slightly as she spoke “Man like you doesn't put this kind of effort into saving a girl just to keep her safe.” He clenched his knife tightly, the suggestion wasn't as offensive to him as the fact that she did not react to him as a threat, mostly because it was true. “Got some nerve saying that to me within reach, girl.” “Aye, I got plenty of nerve.” Her gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing perceptibly “You'll not be fucking her, the Queen will want her whole.”

In a flash, they were rolling across the grass with their legs scrabbling over one another for superiority. With a great expulsion of breath he landed atop of her and had his knife pressed up against her neck, teeth bared and murder in his eyes. Like a gentle reminder, he felt the tap of cold steel on his own neck, and became aware that she had managed to pull her own knife out and press it against his throat. Her voice was mocking over his low growl “Careful now, Sandor. I'd hate for Lady Sansa's honor to be impugned.” Pressing down on her threateningly, he rasped “You know nothing. I know my place, and you'll do well to not question it again.” Licking her lips, she breathed in their mingled breath and enjoyed his smell; wet grass, horse, leather, sweat. The fingers of her left hand curled into the hair at the nape of his neck firmly, she wasn't a gentle soul by any stretch of the imagination. “Why not put all that frustration to good use?”

His mind was buzzing, adrenaline coursing through his burning blood and making him so damn acutely aware of every inch of the body trapped beneath his. Her expression had changed, eyes darkened with desire and the pitch of her voice lowered, causing heat to coil in his gut and lower. Clenching her shoulder in his fist, he reflexively pressed down on her and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand when she failed to bite back a low moan. The second her knife pulled away from his neck, he slowly removed his own from hers. Without pause, she clenched his hair painfully in her fist and slammed her lips into his violently; to which he responded enthusiastically while dropping his hips into hers forcefully, grinding his arousal against her pelvic bone. When her teeth took his lower lip and bit it hard enough to draw blood he jerked hard and snarled, slamming her back to the ground with both hands on her shoulders; her swollen lips were parted, wet with saliva and his own blood. Thoughts fled his mind then, anger mingling with unsated lust to create a fearful pair, which Elyse was about to discover.

When she let his lip go from her teeth and he shoved her back into the grass, clenching her armored shoulders in his hands so tight it almost hurt despite the coverage, her body tensed hard; his entire demeanor darkening and sending needles of fear up her spine, followed by a jolt of pleasure. To see him in battle was one thing, all motion in perfect control, every action with a purpose. The idea of being in his grip as he lost control in the throes of passion, that was enough to almost undo her before anything even happened. 

A wild snarl erupted from him as he dropped his head down, mouth finding her neck and biting hard in retaliation. Teeth piercing her skin forced an uncontrolled cry from her lips, right into his ear “Ah!” Hips jerking up to meet his, the shock of pleasure mingled with the pain as he withdrew from her neck, gleaming trails of saliva and blood connecting to the prominent teeth marks remaining. Fluidly, he lifted off her just enough to allow him to jerk her onto her stomach by her shoulder and then fall back down to grind her into the grass mercilessly. Fist clenching around her braid and twisting her head to the side as she took in a ragged breath, he leaned down and put his ruined cheek against her hair, lips next to her ear “You aren't even trying girl, are you scared?” It was true, her arms were pressed to the grass and fingertips coiling through the blades, she had not tried to budge his bulk—he suspected she didn't particularly try that hard to be on top when they were rolling through the grass, either. Moaning excitedly at his voice in her ear, deepened by lust and anger, she snapped heatedly “You like them with some fight, Sandor?” In truth, he had never thought about fucking someone like this, but the unknown had it's own appeal and he decided this was a mystery he'd like to reveal. Her right hand curled backwards over her shoulder as he breathed into her ear, eyes riveted on the motion and wondering where she was going with it. Her fingertips curled around the edge of his pauldron as he watched, smirking and whispering “Think you can move me?”

When her legs tucked beneath them and thrust her ass, and him by association, in the air- that was a surprise. Rolling forwards and using his own weight against him, she tucked his shoulder hard into hers with her hand and tossed him bodily. Landing heavily and grunting in surprise, he leaped to his feet just in time for her to collide into him violently, slamming into a nearby tree with a collective huff of breath. Her hand cupped him through his uncomfortably tight trousers, her leather-clad breasts pressing hard into his armored chest. Heaving for breath she crooned “I take what and who I want, Sandor.” His arms curled around her, hands clasping her ass tightly “Just once, I want to be taken.” Her hands had deftly untied the front of his trousers and freed his manhood as she spoke, it was no effort on his part to lift her up while she scrabbled with her own drawstrings, his fingers helping pull her pants and smallclothes down past his hands where they slid down to her knees. When she clenched his cock in her fist and gave it a hard squeeze, he tossed his head back and groaned. Stepping away from the tree, her knees lifted and squeezed at his hips as he turned around and pressed her against it, his hands clenching at her hips. Bucking against him, he could feel the blazing heat and wetness of her sex sliding against his, she grasped the front of his chest in her fists and yanked him towards her hard. “Gods!” he snapped and in one smooth motion lifted her and sheathed himself inside of her hot center. A collective groan erupted from both of them and Sandor began thrusting inside of her immediately, violently racing towards completion as he curled his arms around the tree and fucked her into it relentlessly. “Yes!” she gasped lustily, fighting for breath as her hands clenched against his armor, grasping for purchase while stars exploded in her vision and pleasure seized her body- reaching her completion before him and soaring to undiscovered heights of bliss. Gritting his teeth, he felt her clenching around him and every hot cry that escaped her lips shot through him like a bolt until he couldn't hold back anymore and thrust into her once as hard as he could, remaining inside as he found his release and groaned loudly.

Pulling himself free of her, he stepped back while she gracelessly slid to the ground, both of them panting heavily. Resting her head against the tree trunk and looking up at him, she licked her lips quickly, tasting what remained of him there “Mmm.” Tucking his cock back into his trousers, he redid the drawstrings slowly while holding her gaze, content to not break the silence. Following suit, she raised herself back to her feet slowly, enjoying the jelly-legged sensation and the pleasant throb between her legs. “Best get some sleep, long ride tomorrow.” She muttered while grinning grimly, stumbling past him and collecting her discarded dagger before all but falling into her bedroll. He made his way to sit beside her and take up first watch, enjoying the unique peace and satiation that comes from a good fucking.

**SANSA**

There was no window in the tiny cell, only a chamber pot and a filthy pile of straw to sleep in and the only light was from guttering torches down the hall. Sansa Stark lay in the straw a disheveled mess, still wearing the same torn dress from the day Cersei had taken her from King's Landing. All of her exposed flesh nursed bruises and wounds of one degree or another, her face especially, and it hurt to move. She had soon discovered that there was only ever sets of footsteps that would ever come to this part of the dungeon that she had been kept in; the soft treads of a fearful servant who took care of her chamber pot and food, and the heavy metallic stride of the monster. Whenever she heard that heavy metal tread reverberating down the stoney hallway she felt the truest grip of fear she had ever experienced, even after all she had been through. This time was no different.

Steel collided against stone in a steady, heavy rhythm that sent her heart racing up her throat until it beat out its panicked rhythm in her mouth. The monster would be at her chamber any moment, and she scrambled from her straw, stumbling on hunger-weak limbs as she came to the center of her cell. She had learned very quickly that hiding away and trying to run from it would only increase the pain, but it didn't keep her from trembling and whispering shrilly as the monster opened the gate and reached for her “Please, I'm Alayne Stone, just a bastard! I'm-I'm Alayne...” her voice was weak, just like her body, but she whispered her chant feverishly as she was lead out of her cell and down the halls to Cersei's opulent chambers.

Ser Robert Strong was the name of the monster, Cersei had told her as much, so proud of the silent brute that followed her every command. Although she had grown in small parts used to how his armored hand would grasp her almost from shoulder to elbow, and none too gently; it was the macabre silence of the man and the bone-chilling cold that radiated through his armor and sunk into her bones that gave him the name of monster in her mind. That, and his extreme stature reminded her of someone Sansa Stark had feared greatly. But she was not Sansa Stark, just Alayne Stone, bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish, and she had her own reasons to fear Ser Robert.

Much like the other times she had come to enter Cersei's presence, her eyes watered and burned from the light of the room, unable to adjust quickly enough from the dim halls. Briefly, she thought there was a voice that someone named Sansa Stark might recognize, a young and kind boy who had never done her wrong in King's Landing, but it was gone behind a closing door before she could know for sure. Tears, real ones, started to pour familiar tracks down her dirt-covered cheeks as she was shoved to the floor at Cersei's feet. Cersei's newly growing hair was concealed beneath a thick golden shawl and her green eyes burned into the prostrate girl before her, alight with a fever that Alayne thought was true madness—a fire that she saw burning in the eyes of Peter Baelish when she had been unable to avoid being alone with him on many occasions.

“Sansa, little dove? Little traitor, more like.” Cersei's voice was soft as she stood from her chair and took a step towards her, head tilted just slightly. “Perhaps today is the day? Will you admit your crime? That crime would be regicide, murdering my son, King Joffrey?” her lips twisted and pressed together into a tight line of anger as she finished, watching the filthy Alayne's shoulders tremble while tears pattered to the cold floor beneath her. Alayne was careful to wait until it seemed Cersei wanted her to speak, mindful of lessons from previous encounters. Tremulously, she whispered and kept her eyes on the Queen Regent's slipper-clad feet “Your Grace, I am Alayne St-” Cersei's hand connected sharply to her cheek, interrupting Alayne while her fingernails cleaved another trail of furrows across her face, her dismayed cry withered under Cersei's enraged voice “I'm Alayne Stone, bastard of Petyr Baelish!”she mimicked cruelly, wine from the cup she clasped in her free hand slopping to the ground between them “And I've never been to King's Landing before!” her teeth were bared and her voice dropped threateningly “When Qyburn comes back to me, you filthy traitorous whore, you'll sing a different song.” Cersei's finger pointed at her sharply “I can't wait to hear the screams he'll rip from you, your very presence soils this place as it is!”

Sobbing and holding her face in her hands, cradling both her newly bleeding cuts and the old scabbed ones, Alayne whispered frantically “Please, I've never even seen King Joffrey! I'm Alayne! Just Alayne..” Disgusted, Cersei gestured for Ser Robert to take her in hand once again. Jerked to her feet by the icy, steel clad fist of the monster, Alayne looked at Cersei through the watery haze that covered her sight while blood mingled with her tears. “It would give me true pleasure to see my great Knight here crush you and tear you limb from limb with his hands, Sansa, it really would. How you can continue to cry you're some bastard daughter, even as your red hair now shows freely, is pathetic. Take her back to her “room”, Ser Robert.” Alayne could only sob anew in relief as she was dragged away. The cell was a horrible, silent place, but all the silks, pillows and beauty in the world could turn rotten in the presence of Cersei and her ministrations. Alayne would prefer the company of rats and filth, and resolved that no matter what happened, she would go to her grave whispering her chant. _I'm Alayne Stone, bastard daughter of Peter Baelish._


End file.
